


Favorite Woes

by Quiet_Shadow



Series: The Woes Series [13]
Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Dresses, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mech Preg, Mistress, Mpreg, Multi, Nobility, Slash, Sparklings, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-03 11:46:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2849750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiet_Shadow/pseuds/Quiet_Shadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - Count Sentinel of Antilla had dreams. Nothing too unusual for a Count: bring fame and glory to his name and House, marry up with a pretty Femme, produce a few heirs,...<br/>Sadly, his best laid plans didn't factor in the King's amorous attentions, and his sudden elevation to the title of 'Royal Mistress'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas everyone!  
> Here's another gift for this merry day. First introduced in '28 Woes', for those of you who follow the fic, 'Favorite Woes' is one of the many Sentinel fics I worked on this year. Sadly, the project is currently stalled/on hiatus, as I struggle with other fics projects for which I have more ideas, plus plain old laziness and lack of inspiration to continue this one.  
> Usually, I don't post unfinished projects... But given it's Christmas and since some people were curious, here's a first chapter of this 'verse.  
> Enjoy your present. ;)

The passage hadn’t changed much, Sentinel mused as he lead his Zap-Horse on the badly paved road. Some trees had grown, some had been cut down, and he thought there was a couple of new fields around, where he remember seeing a wood a long time ago. He wondered why they had cut it all down. Surely, the lands of Rigel were sufficiently fertile to feed them all already?

Hum. It would give him something to talk about with his uncle, he supposed as he looked around. Ah, there. Peasants were working steadily at picking Aurum-Apples in a nearby orchard. Sentinel let the horse slow down as he watched them. He didn’t think he recognized any of them, but then again, he had never paid much attention to the lower classes.

They, however, seemed to recognize him, for he saw a couple of mechs blink at his appearance before bowing to him in deference, something that pleased him immensely.

A older mech slowly walked toward him, a small smile on his lips. “My lord Sentinel, is that you? Primus Almighty, it’s been vorns since we last see you, young Lord! You grew up so much!”

Sentinel preened. “Yes, I did, didn’t I…?” he paused, trying to remember the name of the old mech. He knew he should know it. The mech was familiar enough. Thankfully, the mech didn’t take offense and chuckled.

“Steelflail, my Lord,” he said, bowing again. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember me. But I do remember you well, my Lord. You used to stop by my farm with your cousin and your adoptive siblings on your way back from your long summer walks near the river. My Bonded used to give you large slices of Wire-Wheat bread with Boron-Honey and Selenium-Strawberries jam for snacks whenever you dropped by, along with hot Energon-Milk.”

Sentinel snapped his fingers. “Right, I remember now.” He had never bothered learning the peasants’ names, but he did remember the sweets given to them by the farmers working the lands around the castle. It was part of these fond sparklinghood’s memories he had hold to growing up. it didn’t seem so far, the time the four of them had been so innocents and inconscients, running around trying to escape the etiquette lessons of Grandpa Kup…

He shook his head slightly. “Is the Marquis of Rigel at the castle currently?” he asked, trying to be polite. The old mech nodded.

“As far as I know, he is, my Lord. I know for a fact the Count of Spheris is also at home,” he added carefully. Sentinel frowned, not liking the sound of it.

“That old pervert still lives here?” he asked, not happy the slightest. To his surprise, the old peasant gave him a reproachful look.

“You shouldn’t speak ill of your great-uncle, my Lord. It isn’t done,” he said carefully.

Sentinel snorted. A low class mech was trying to give him lessons on politeness? “I shall speak of him as I wish,” he stated clearly. “I never liked Count Alpha Trion much, I don’t see why I should put up with him now that I’m an adult and ready to take my inheritance.” The peasant lowered his gaze but said nothing. “Is there anyone else at the castle presently?” he asked more amiably, spark beating fast in its chamber.

The old mech bit his lips. “Well… Lord Elita might be here too…”

So Elita was indeed here! Fabulous! But wait, had he called her Lord? Sentinel blinked. That was unexpected. Elita, as a femme, was supposed to be a Lady. Then again, Rodimus had Bonded… as a Carrier, at that. Which meant Elita was the last member of House Prime, so… He grimaced. Sentinel hadn’t expected this difficulty. Oh, he definitely needed to go and speak with his Uncle and his beloved childhood friend.

“Thank you for your time,” he said briskly to the peasant, before going his way, letting his Zap-Horse gallop. His spark started to beat even faster as he started to recognize the more familiar surrounding, among them the alley surrounded by tall Beryllium-Oaks leading to the small bridge over a clear stream, beyond which one could find Serene Stream, castle of the Marquis Ultra Magnus of Rigel.

The castle hadn’t changed, Sentinel thought as he drew his horse to a halt in front of the large steps in white marble of Thermia. The towers still stood tall, the windows at their peek catching the last rays of the sun as it slowly sunk toward the horizon. Most of the windows were wide open to refresh the rooms, but it wouldn’t be long before a servant went and closed them for the upcoming night, along with the heavy wood-encrusted metal shutters. From the open windows in of the caves, where the kitchens were installed, he could already smell the scents of cooked mechanicrops which would be served at the dinner.

For a moment, he just shuttered his optics and it was as if he had never gone, as if he was still a youngling playing around, waiting for the call of the governess to come back inside at once to wash before dinner…

“Sentinel? Is that you?” a voice called curiously.

He onlined his optics again. At the top of the steps leading to the large double doors granting entrance to the ballroom, a familiar looking femme stood, head tilted to the side.

“Elita…” he whispered.

She had grow up, just like he had. And he couldn’t help but find her prettier than she had been before. Under her clothes, her armor was still the bright yellow he remembered. Her face was virtually unchanged. She was standing straighter and more proudly than he had ever seen her to, though, and her clothes… He almost grimaced. So it was true; Elita was now the Lord Count of Athenia, then.

The long dress with petticoats and shawl he remembered her wearing had let their place to a bright red justacorps and blue breeches over white stockings, along with a tricorne hat bordered with golden metal thread. It felt weird to see her clothed like that, and it didn’t feel right to him. Especially when his CPU whispered that, unless a miracle happened, then his plans had truly been shattered now.

Still, Elita was smiling at him. “Well, it is you! Who would have thought! It must have been… wow, almost fifty-four vorns now!”

Sentinel coughed. “Almost fifty-five,” he corrected as he let himself slide of his Zap-Horse back. “It’s good to see you Elita,” he said fondly. And it really was, even if… even if, from what he was seeing, things weren’t going to turn the way he wanted them to.

The femme laughed discreetly behind her hand. “It’s good to see you two, old friend. Things have definitely been too quiet here since Rodimus and Optimus both left,” she said, grimacing a bit. “I’m glad to have more company. Are you staying for long?”

“I don’t know yet,” the blue mech said as he handed the reins of his Zap-Horse to a servant who had come running from around the corner after hearing the arrival of the visitor. “I need to see Uncle Ultra. I was told he was here?” he asked politely.

“Indeed I am,” an older male voice said. Stepping out of the house, Ultra Magnus, Head of House Magnus, Marquis of Rigel, stood proudly, looking down at his nephew with a stern face. However, there was a small light in his optics Sentinel recognized easily. The old mech -- well, he was old for Sentinel, but apparently, he hadn't reached middle age quite yet) was happy to see him.

Taking off his tricorn, Sentinel bowed. “It’s a pleasure to see you, my Uncle.”

“So it is, Nephew,” the older mech said pleasantly nodding. “Come in, please. Dinner will be served soon, and you must be famished after such a long journey.”

“How could I refuse such a pleasant offer?” Sentinel said with a smirk as he started to climb the steps, tricorn tucked under his arm.

Ultra Magnus rumbled. “Indeed. I hope you still like Cryo-Carrots soup and Crystalberries muffins, for I think it’s what the cook was planning for tonight,” he mentioned casually.

Sentinel laughed. “It’ll be perfect.” Reaching his Uncle, he briefly considered hugging him. Before he could decide, however, the older mech had taken a step forward and was hugging him instead.

“It’s good to have you home,” Ultra Magnus said quietly.

“And it’s good to be back,” Sentinel answered in the same tone.

*-*-*-*-*

Dinner was altogether pleasant. The cook had not only prepared the Cryo-Carrots soup and Crystalberries muffins Ultra Magnus had mentioned, but also baked Ion-yams and delicious Wire-Wheat galettes with a thick, creamy oil and theragen sauce. To Sentinel’s joy, aside from Elita and Ultra Magnus, Grandpa Kup had also been present at dinner.

Although Sentinel called Kup ‘grandpa’, like every sparkling who had grown up at Serene Stream, he wasn’t actually related to the old mech. Sir Kup, a Baronnet without lands or much fortune to his name, was the Sire of Ultra Magnus’ late mate, Solus, and he had come to live with his son-in-law after the premature death of Lady Magnus to help him take care of the four youths he had found himself suddenly saddled with, and had never left. It had been easier for all the sparklings to just refer to him as ‘Grandpa’. Sentinel knew that a couple of the servants offsprings also did, and though it made him frown a bit, thinking it was a lack of respect toward someone who was their superior, it had never seemed to bother the old mech.

Sentinel could honestly say he was fond of Kup. Despite being quite strict when it came to discipline and manners, and despite being far too fond of cy-gars, which Sentinel despised, Kup had been a wonderful storyteller who had made his sparklinghood almost magic. Stoic, he had taken in stride Sentinel’s temper tantrums, Rodimus’ bragging, Elita’s daring and Optimus’ repeated ‘why?’ and did his best to slowly turn them into responsible adults.

It was quite clear to Sentinel that Ultra Magnus wouldn’t have managed by himself, all these years ago. Recently widowed and having to raise alone Optimus, his only creation, he had suddenly lost his brother Nova, Captain in King Magmatron’s army, during the late King’s crusade to pacify the unruly colony of Karn. Sentinel had barely been older than Optimus at this point, and his Carrier, Lady Aura, had found herself unable to properly take care of him, especially given the fact she had been asked to go and play Ambassador in the Quintesson Empire, for she was one of the few nobles with diplomatic training who not only spoke the Quintesson language but also knew their customs. She had chosen duty over family, and deserted her young creation’s side, letting his Uncle as his legal tutor. She must have come back to see her creation thrice ever since, although the visits she never made were heavily compensated by long, frequent letters.

Ultra Magnus hadn’t been impressed with her decision to say the least, Sentinel knew as much, and if he was honest, he had to admit he could see why his Uncle did so. But despite it, the blue mech couldn’t help but admire her, and admire her dedication to her duties.

As it was, Sentinel hadn’t arrived in Serene Stream since five orns when Rodimus and Elita had joined them. Their Sire, Guardian Prime, the head and last scion of House Prime, as well as their Carrier, Lady Arcana, had succombed to the Cosmic Rust disease, two more victims of an epidemic which had swept through Cybertron and cut down commoners and nobles without distinction. King Magmatron himself had died, leaving the crowd to his son Megatron, current sovereign of Cybertron.

Rodimus, although he had caught the disease, had survived and regained his strength and vitality in no time, wherever his older sister, Elita, hadn’t even had her paint as much as flaked. But the epidemic had left them orphans and without close kin. Ultra Magnus had then stepped in and took them in as his wards, arguing that Guardian Prime had been a close friend, and that his late mate had also been Lady Arcana’s cousin and thus, the closest relative the two sparklings had had left at the time. So Elita and Rodimus had come to Serene Stream one summer morning, and never left, to Sentinel and Optimus’ delight.

Sentinel almost sighed as he saw Kup light a cy-gar. It seemed so far, now, the time they would run in the fields and play hide-and-seek in the nearby woods, where Rodimus also displayed his talents in archery and Optimus read them aloud the history bookfiles he had taken in the library, where he took branches and pretended they were swords to fight the savages and Elita used a slingshot to kill small birds and Sillicium-Squirrels.

She had always loved hunting, Sentinel mused as he glanced regretfully at her empty chair. As usual at Serene Stream, dinner was followed, for the adults, by a drink of high-grade energon in the smoking room, where Kup could light his cy-gar without being reprimanded by overzealous servants ‘looking out for his health’. Sentinel had barely been of age to join them when he had left of Iacon’s Royal Military Academy, all these vorns ago, and he had been eager for a chance to speak his mind about a matter of things with his Uncle and honorary Grandpa. Although dinner had been filled with conversation, it was tacitly understood that more serious matters were only to be spoke of behind the closed doors of the smoking room, where servants were forbidden to enter and the sound couldn’t filter outside. Sentinel had looked forward the moment they could speak of what was really bringing him back at Serene Stream, and had hoped he would have a chance to speak alone with Elita later on.

The femme, however, had retired just after dinner, pretending she was tired and that she had to wake up early tomorrow anyway, for she was invited to a hunt with some of the nearby noble families members. Another proof, if he really needed one, that Elita was settling into the duties and activities of a Count.

“I tell you, this isn’t mechanimals she’s going to go hunting, but a mate. A strong, healthy and resilient femme she’d feel comfortable with or even better, a sturdy, fertile mech she will be able to breed again and again for offsprings and restart the Prime lineage. Knowing her, she’d prefer a mech, so she can have the pleasure to spike a stronger frame and dominate it, fragging it and filling it with her transfluid…”

“Uncle Alpha, these words are hardly appropriate,” Ultra Magnus rumbled, a small frown of distaste on his face. Sentinel nodded along, eagerly approving.

“You’re such a prude,” Alpha Trion snorted, and Sentinel twitched. He understood that family was important to Ultra Magnus, but had he been at the place of his dear Uncle, he would have throw out the old lecher out a long time ago, kin or not.

Alpha Trion of House Magnus, Count of Spheris, younger brother to the late Powered Convoy Magnus, was Ultra Magnus and Nova’s Uncle and thus, Sentinel’s Great-Uncle on his Sire’s side. If Kup had been the wise old mech who watched over the sparklings in his care, Alpha Trion had been the more… morally dubious one. Sure, he was reputed to be wise and smart, and since he had been the one to give Sentinel, Optimus, Rodimus and Elita lessons on history, geography, philosophy, sciences and politics, the blue mech had to reluctantly admit he indeed was. However, Alpha Trion was also known for his immoderate love of interfacing, his debauchery and sexual escapades, as well as for his rather… controversial addition to modern literature.

Dear Primus, it was so embarrassing to know his Great-Uncle was known as an author of erotic works by the population! To say nothing of his habit, which Sentinel had caught on fast as teenagebot, to drag or summon servants to his berthroom, when he didn’t received professional courtesans or pleasurebots. Given how… busy he was, Sentinel was rather surprised little illegitimate offsprings hadn’t popped everywhere. Then again, perhaps little bastards existed but he had never caught on. Anyway, Alpha Trion was hardly what one would call a respectable bot.

Kup glared at the other mech half-heartedly. Sentinel wondered if he was just so used to the lecher’s comments he couldn’t really get angry at him anymore. “Ultra has a point. This is not a polite or appropriate conversation to have, especially given that Sentinel just came back and that we’d rather hear him out on his life and his projects. Not… not your rather unique view of events,” he said diplomatically.

“On the contrary, you should hear me out -- and Sentinel too. Really, that boy shouldn’t be so shy about such matters,” he said winking at Sentinel who grimaced. Seeing this, the old mech sighed dramatically, fingers playing with one of his long whiskers. “I’m surrounded by such prudes! Luckily, Elita is more than ready to share my mindset and partake in my advices.”

“Elita isn’t like that!” Sentinel blurted out immediately, wishing to defend his childhood friend and crush. Curiously, Ultra Magnus coughed and Kup looked a bit displeased.

Alpha Trion chuckled. “Is that what you think, dear nephew? How wrong you would be! Really, Elita is far less innocent than you seem to think she is. That girl has a sharp mind and a taste for pleasure I’m delighted to see. She’s really something,” he smiled. “Why, she’s no blushing maiden, and she has plans! She’s a hunter seeking a rare game, a good breeder for her to build the Prime dynasty anew. I have instructed her on what to base herself on, and hopefully she’ll have taken my advice to Spark. First off,” he said seriously, “she doesn’t need someone with a big fortune or a name too prestigious.

Usually, seeking someone from rich families ends up being more trouble than it’s worth, as they tend to ask for absurdly large dowries and bride prices, and Elita doesn’t have presently that kind of money. Secondly, she shouldn’t get enamored of the first pretty face she sees. If she needs to choose a breeder -- and yes, even if he or she will be her mate, she’ll mainly use him or her to produce sparklings, so ‘breeder’ applies -- she first needs to consider the health of the Spark, the shape of the hips. Elita needs someone with a strong Spark so he or she will be able to handle numerous pregnancies, and her mate needs to have good hips to facilitate the carrying cycle and the birthing.

Now that I think about it, I should have also recommended her to seek someone with large feeding pouches, to feed the newborns. It’d be useful. She also needs to make discreet inquiries on the state of the future fiancé’s carrying chamber, and on the fertility rate of the family; she doesn’t need someone infertile, or whose family has been known to produce weak offsprings. Then she can consider the face, as well as the intelligence. Actually, the intelligence of the future Bonded should come first; she wouldn’t want her future offsprings to be stupid, would she? And with a pretty face like hers, even if her mate is less pretty, there’s still hope for good-looking sparklings. A good processor, however, is more precious than beauty criterias. Money and reputation will come last. Although the Prime line isn’t as rich as it once was, Elita has still a small fortune in her name, as well as the ancestral Manor of Athenia, and the pension she receives due to being Rodimus’ sister, so she will not be lacking for anything so long she’s reasonable in her spending. She can allow herself to marry someone poor so long it meets the other conditions.

As for reputation…” he trailed off and leaned comfortably in his seat. “Well, when you’re sister-in-law to the King’s cousin, you have more than enough reputation for two. Elita certainly seemed to find my opinion on the matter interesting, and she told me she’d think about it. I added, for her benefit, that being Bonded didn’t mean she couldn’t have a few extra lovers on the side, with faces and body builds more to her taste. She seemed quite happy to hear it.”

Kup just grumbled as Alpha Trion finished his long speech, just as Ultra Magnus pinched his olfactive sensor. “So you say. You really corrupted that femme, haven’t you?”

“Please, I haven’t corrupted anyone,” Alpha Trion snorted. “At least, anyone not willing to be corrupted in the first place. She was very eager to learn, that femme. Borrowed and read all my books, she did. The Pit, she even suggested improvement. As it is, I’m seriously considering having her proofread my latest work, so she can give me sincere advices before I submit it to my publisher.”

Sentinel looked at the old mech, optics wide and shaking his head slightly. He couldn’t be serious. Elita wasn’t… Elita couldn’t be like that, could she? Not Elita, the sweet femme he remembered playing with Sire and Carrier with when they were very young. Not the pretty, distinguished femme he had long hoped to marry?

His shock was clearly visit, because Ultra Magnus glanced at him, frowned then looked at Alpha Trion with annoyance. “Uncle Alpha, I think that’s enough about Elita. Perhaps it would be better to change subject.”

The older mech raised an optic ridge and glanced at Sentinel before smirking. “Did I break you, Sentinel? Dear Primus, you don’t need much! One would think you’re a virgin, from the way you react to any mention of interfacing. You are not, are you?” Alpha Trion asked suddenly, leaning forward and looking at his grand-nephew with narrowed optics.

Sentinel sputtered. “I… Of course not, I…! I don’t see how it concerns you!”

Alpha Trion hummed. “Umph. Despite your protests, I’m doubting you. I have to wonder if the brothels next to the Academy still advertises their workers clearly. In my time, it wasn’t hard for any student to go and get their seals broken…”

“Alpha…” Kup growled warningly. The whiskered mech pouted.

“I can hardly say anything in this house, it’s annoying,” he mumbled.

“Please, Sentinel, don’t listen to him too much,” Kup said as he served his former ward a drink of high-grade. “We’re used to him by now, but there’s no reason you should have to endure this.”

Sentinel nodded slightly as he took a mouthful of fuel. The taste was quite strong and bitter, but he drank it all the same. It helped him NOT think about what Alpha Trion had just said. That was… that was just shameful! However, the old lecher had hit close to home. It was an open secret Iacon’s military Academy was near a few… pleasure establishments and that most, if not all the Cadets, ended up in them at some point, losing their seals to hired professionals. Sentinel had to admit he did lose his spike seal to one, and that he had gained some… experience with two or three more during his learning years at the prestigious Academy. His valve remained sealed, though. Nobody would ever touch his valve. As the only Creation and heir of Nova of House Magnus, it was his duty to Bond well and become a Knight in service to the King. He had made plans since he was a youngling, and he certainly wasn’t going to deviate from them for anyone! He was thinking of having his reproductive chamber removed as it was, though he had yet to contact a medic to inquire about the process. It wasn’t a priority yet either. He sipped some fuel again.

The three other mechs imitated him in silence, and for a moment, everything was quiet and comfortable. Sentinel glanced at the fireplace, noting the half-burned wood-metal logs that were still irradiating a comfortable heat. As he watched small flames dance among them, he started to relax.

“So, my nephew, what gives us the pleasure of your visit?” Ultra Magnus finally asked. “Please, be honest,” he added as Sentinel opened his mouth to speak. “I don’t think for a moment you don’t have some motive other than nostalgia or the wish to see your family. You’re far too much like your Carrier for that,” he said, a look of distaste crossing his face briefly.

Sentinel stiffened. He disliked having Ultra Magnus being less than respectful about his Carrier. Lady Aura had made a choice, a choice Sentinel understood and approved, and Ultra Magnus didn’t have to judge her or find her lacking. She was doing an important job, something much more important than playing housewife and mother in a backwater, small castle lost in the countryside of Kalis.

Seeing his nephew’s stiff back, Ultra Magnus sighed. “Please, don’t get mistaken, Sentinel. I love you dearly, and I do love your Carrier, for she always was a true Lady and a most beloved Bonded to my brother. However, neither you or her are what I’d call ‘family mechs’. I understood it well enough when, from three letters home a deca-cycle when you first entered the Military Academy, you sparsely dropped to one every two or three orns while growing up. I don’t blame you the slightest,” he added, dark blue optics focused on his nephew. “Your studies were important for you, and so, I suppose, will be your career, just like Aura was before she met your Sire. Just like her and your GrandSire before her, you’d rather work than make a simple courtesy visit, and so one can always guess that you dropping by has an ulterior motive. So please, my nephew, do be honest and tell me why you came back after all this time. I’ll remind you you haven’t visited since that Primus’ Birth Day, almost twenty-five vorns ago, just before Rodimus was presented to the Court. Him, Optimus and Elita missed you a lot,” he added, looking at Sentinel a bit reproachfully.

Sentinel bit his lips. “I was being offered an opportunity at the time, a chance to go work in the Iacon’s Preditron Arsenal during an internship. I just couldn’t refuse,” he explained. “I’m sorry to have missed Rodimus before he went off, but I just couldn’t make the journey to here and go back on time. You understand me, I hope?” he asked, trying to straighten. He wasn’t ashamed of himself in the least, but it would weigh on him a bit if he didn’t have the approbation or forgiveness of his tutors. Not much, mind you, because he wasn’t a bleeding Spark, but some, for they had raised him and he had always sought out their approval.

Kup sighed. “No, I guess you couldn’t, since it was indeed a rare offer. But still, a forenote would have been nice. As it was, we learned of it two deca-cycles later, after almost getting sick of worry, thinking you had fallen ill or got into an accident.”

Ah, yes. Perhaps he should have wrote to them quicker, Sentinel allowed, fidgeting uneasily in his seat. As it was, he had been so excited by the internship and its possibility he had forgotten to directly write to his Uncle to announce his desire to stay at the school for the holidays, and was quite surprised when the Headmaster had called him to his office to inform him of his tutor’s worries.

Perhaps he ought to present formal excuses? But no, he decided, it would be pointless. Kup obviously understood, and it was clear Ultra Magnus did too, even if he did not approve. Presenting them excuses wasn’t needed, and the Pit if he ever excused himself toward Alpha Trion.

Instead, he coughed. “Nevermind it. As it is, I came back to discuss some of my future plans and my inheritance,” he said as he looked at Ultra Magnus in the optics.

The old mech slowly nodded. “I thought as much. What do you wish to know? The state of your parents’ old Manor in Antilla? I made sure the place was maintained. Two servants still live over there and take care of the cleaning, while a vornly hired gardener takes care of the plants. The state of your fortune? For that, I can only give you the basics; your Carrier still manages it, and fairly so from what I heard, even though she rarely communicates on them. You might want to see the bankers at Pova-Antilla and your family’s lawyer for details. I’ll also remind you Aura is keeping the high hand on all your accounts, as she’s still the Countess. You will need to speak with her about your allowances and what you can take from the vaults.” 

Sentinel nodded and started to open his mouth, but Ultra Magnus cut him out. “The ornly stipends your Carrier send me to help raise you weren’t used in full, as you know it, for she often sent more than necessary. What wasn’t used was saved in an account for your use; this, you can access easily and without needing permission from your Carrier, nor my own. You’ll find it holds a correct amount of credits, enough to live as a bourgeois for a few orns, should you be careful with your spending. I must tell you I took the liberty to invest some of the money in various businesses, such as a Zap-Horses elevage and a counter in the Colonies, which made good business and brought in more than what was first invested. You’ll continue to perceive additional credits through their benefices. What else would you like to speak about? You can officially claim the title of Count of Antilla, since you’re finally in your final upgrade, have finished your schooling and since your late Sire didn’t have any other heir, of course…”

“It’s all fine, Uncle Ultra,” Sentinel cut him, “but that wasn’t what interested me in the first place. I don’t care that much for wealth. I know you did a fine job of administering the funds my Carrier gave me, and I thank you. I have no intention to take them over right away, as I don’t know how to make and hold a budget yet. The Academy formed me to the use of weapons, but it’s teaching was poor about everycycle life,” he said, grimacing a bit. “As it is, I’d like you to… keep doing what you are doing, and perhaps give me lessons to teach me how to take over,” he added formally.

There was a small light of approval in the older mech’s optics. “It’s good to see you can think practically, and that you have a working processor,” he rumbled. “I saw too many young mechs figuring they knew everything and made a mess of their inheritance.”

Sentinel nodded. He knew about that, which why was he wasn’t in a hurry to take over financial matters in the first place. Of course, he thought he was quite knowledgeable about a number of things, but he couldn’t allow himself to make a mistake. Not when the name of his family and his future fame were at risk.

“Then tell us, my nephew,” Alpha Trion quipped, “why you’d like to speak so much about, if money and what it can bring you aren’t the first thing on your processor?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sentinel speaks of his plans for the future...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter; I hope you'll like, folk. More info/background established, before we move up to meet more characters in the next chapter -- especially Megatron. ;)

“I want to become a career soldier,” Sentinel said flatly.

Kup’s optics widened, even as Ultra Magnus raised an optic ridge. “What? Are you serious, youngling? That’s what got you so worked up?” the elder of the mechs said in disbelief. “Oh, please, don’t take it badly,” he added, raising a hand as Sentinel glared a bit at him. “It’s not that I don’t think you can do it, Sentinel. You’re obviously more suited to fighting than most of the Iacon and northern provinces of Cybertron-typed mechs. but you have to admit it is an unusual choice. I mean, most of the professional militaries are Kaon or Polyhex-descended. They’re Decepticon Elite, not… not Autobot Gentry,” he said diplomatically.

There was, and everyone knew it, some truth in this statement. Anyone could enter the army, but most people only served for a few vorns before leaving and going back to their civilian life, and only a handful of mechs choose to dedicate their life to become officers for his Majesty’s glory. Among those fews, mechs descended from the faction once known as ‘Autobots’ could be counted on the servos of a hand. Most people said it was because they were smaller and their plating thinner than their ‘Decepticons’ cousins, who more often than not were powerful, bulky mechs, ideal for fighting. Differences between ‘Autobots’ and ‘Decepticons’ didn’t stop here. Most ‘Autobots’ and mechs from the Northern provinces had blue optics, whereas ‘Decepticons’ and mechs from the Southern ones had red optics. What fragmented history the modern historians had managed to pull together indicated the two groups had often been at war, and that the last one, particularly violent and long, wiped out a good part of the planet population as well as destroying civilization as it once stood. Texts hinted at some sort of cataclysmic events, though what exactly was unknown.

What was certain, however, was that in the end, survivors banded together to rebuild the planet, erasing most differences between the two factions. Cybertronians had lost too much already, like most of their technology, and their ancestors’ legendary ability to transform. Frame-types remained, and probably some inclination, like the military mindset of the Decepticon-descended mechs or the talent for art or repair of the Autobots-descended ones, but the society was less divided. The few wars that happened later had other motives, and answered to Kaon’s desire to unite Cybertron under a single banner, but that was another history.

Sentinel snorted. He had expected these reactions. “Typical thinking. I don’t see why a proud young mech of Autobot ancestry couldn’t become an officer in King Megatron’s army. Look at Admiral Brawn, for example,” he pointed out. “He is a Minibot of Autobot ancestry and he still managed to reach the rank of Admiral in the Navy.”

“Brawn is a special case,” Alpha Trion pointed out. “There are strong suspicions he may have some Decepticon-coding in him, and he has always been known for his strength which was even above the average full-Decepticon strength.”

“So?” Sentinel cut him, impatient. “He managed to, and that’s what counts.”

Ultra Magnus hummed. “So you say. I’m curious, though. Was it the Military Academy which gave you the taste for such a… risky career? You know it isn’t an obligation for the graduates to enter the army, right? Students and Cadets are only taught the basics of fighting and the spirit of military discipline, it doesn’t mean they all have to become soldiers.”

Sentinel nodded solemnly. “I know it, Uncle. It isn’t something I decided out of the blue. I’ve been thinking about it seriously, long before I even got that internship at the Preditron Arsenal. I feel it is a lifestyle that suit me, something in which I’d find useful. You know I’ve never been very… interested in Court’s games,” he said, frowning. “I like arts, true, but not as Optimus does or to the point I wish to learn painting or sponsoring rising artists. I’d hate feeling… unoccupied,” he allowed. “I had thought to join the ambassadors’ corps, as did my Carrier, but my notes in diplomacies and Cybertronian dialects and sub-languages aren’t sufficient, unless I retake several vorns of studying, which I don’t presently feel like taking. I enjoyed fencing, though, and I found myself very interested and, from what my teachers told me, very talented in the use of spears and lances. I enjoy the strict life of the army, or at least what I’ve seen of it during my studies. Besides,” he added, “I feel it is a good way to bring back some very needed shine to the descendants of the Iacon royal family…”

Kup choked on his drink, Alpha Trion leaned back in his seat with a small smirk and Ultra Magnus stiffened before sagging in his seat. “Oh, Sentinel… this is old history,” he sighed. “It has been eons since the Magnus were Princes of Iacon…”

“Kings,” Sentinel corrected. “The Magnus lineage was a lineage of Kings, long before the invasions from the south and the annexion of Iacon by the Kaon Empire abolished the Iacon monarchy and replaced it by the rule of Kaon’s Kings and Queens.”

“Princes,” Ultra Magnus corrected him again with an air of finality. “Check your history; Optimus could give you pointers,” he added with a smirk. “Zeemon Magnus, from who we are descended, was the last and youngest offspring of the then-King Zeta Magnus. He was titled ‘Prince’, and had no hope of getting to the throne, with many siblings preceding him. When the Kaon King Dragotron IV annexed Iacon and Zeta was killed, his Creations all accepted the rendition and the conditions put by the winners… or at least, pretended to,” he sighed. “It was stupid of them to try and come back on their words, to try and rally troops to take by Iacon by force. Kaon’s answer was violent and deadly, killing all of Zeta Magnus’ Creations involved in the plot… except two. The eldest femme, Wys, who had chosen to become a nun and as such, had since long left Iacon and abandoned all pretentions to the throne… and Zeemon, who kept his word. He actually renounced all of his nobility titles, did you know? But Dragotron IV was merciful and reinstalled him as a Marquis and gave him lands, on the condition he and his descendants would never revendicate the throne of Iacon or challenge Dragotron’s dynasty,” the Magnus finished.

He eyed his nephew warily. “Sentinel… I dare to hope you aren’t thinking of doing something stupid. Optimus may have a lot of influence on the King, he couldn’t protect you should you try and act against Megatron…”

“I have no intention to,” Sentinel said stiffly. “I’m not stupid. Iacon’s kingdom is long dead, and just a province of Kaon’s Empire. That doesn’t mean I can’t get some pride from my family’s history, or try to honor my ancestors. Our name and deeds have nearly sunk into oblivion. Well, no longer,” he almost shouted, hands tightening in fists. “I want to become someone, Uncle! I want the name of Magnus to get due recognition!”

“Oh, but I think we already do,” Alpha Trion mentioned casually, leaning back in his seat comfortably. “After all, one of our own has become the King’s official Mistress, his ‘Favorite’.” He seemed very pleased with it, but Kup growled and Ultra Magnus looked like he had swallowed a Lead-Lemon.

Sentinel raised an optic ridge and glared at his Great-Uncle. “I mean recognition through battles feats, not through… dubious and salacious skills!” he blushed.

Ultra Magnus rumbled threateningly. “Don’t speak like that of my Creation, Sentinel,” he warned.

Sentinel bit his lips. “And how should I speak of ‘Lady’ Optimus, then?” he asked, looking at his Uncle in the optics. “Even in Iacon, so far away from Kaon, I’ve heard rumors!”

“Rumors,” Kup cut in. “It means these aren’t facts, Sentinel. I’ve heard some of these… tales… whispered by envious nobles or dirty minded mechs and femmes alike.” He seemed very displeased by it. “For having seen Optimus several times, since he invited me to the Court, I can attest most are untrue.”

“Is it supposed to reassure me?” Sentinel asked without being able to stop himself. “My ‘dear’ cousin is now Mistress to the King! Will you try and tell me it’s an honorable position?”

“Well, this certainly is a position,” Alpha Trion quipped, and Sentinel blinked before grimacing as he understood the wordplay.

“Alpha,” Ultra Magnus warned. “What I don’t tolerate from Sentinel, I sure won’t tolerate more from you.”

The whiskered mech raised his hands. “Very well, forget I said anything. But really, you shouldn’t be offended. It was going to happen sooner or later, no? Dear little Optimus having a mate, I mean. Of course, I suppose you expected him to play country noble, with a pretty femme as a mate or a witty, gentle mech, who he would have filled regularly with his nice, thick spike to Sire a couple of offsprings for House Magnus…”

“Alpha!”

The old lecher laughed. “Don’t say to me it isn’t true, Ultra. I know very well you had tentatively started to look at potential mates before Optimus was ‘noticed’ by King Megatron.”

Ultra Magnus glared at him and pinched his lips, but didn’t say anything. Kup, however was far less quiet.

“That doesn’t mean we want to hear about our Sparkling’s… marital life and the details it would and could involve, you old…!”

Alpha Trion humphed. “Oh, please. You know full well that, had he been home and in need of advices or reassurances on interfacing, it’s to you he’d have asked. Of course,” he added with a small smirk, “I doubt you would have been of much help to him, prude as you are.”

“Alpha…” Ultra Magnus sighed, less heat in his optics. “Please, don’t.” He looked very old all at once. “And Sentinel, you too, please. The situation is… hard enough on me already. I wasn’t prepared for Optimus to leave so suddenly, especially not for Kaon, and certainly not to become… to become Megatron’s berthwarmer!”

Ah, so he and his Uncle thought alike on some level, Sentinel thought with some satisfaction. “Well, if you didn’t want Optimus to become… to become King Megatron’s lover,” he put in diplomatically, “you shouldn’t have let him go to Kaon in the first place. You could have told him no when he asked you…”

“But he never asked to go,” Ultra Magnus said, optics narrowing slightly. “Is it what you heard, Sentinel? What exactly have you been told? And by who? For I don’t remember you asking us directly about the truth of the matter.”

The blue mech shifted uneasily. “Well, I… I’ve heard it from various classmates,” he eluded. “And perhaps from a few teachers… from various people in the streets I listened to…From the priest at the Academy, too.”

“And what did they say, exactly?” Ultra Magnus insisted.

“That, uh… that Optimus was a shameless mech who had come at the palace and had seduced the King, thus living in immorality for King Megatron was Bonded and should be faithful to Queen Starscream, and that Optimus not being Bonded and engaging in interfacing was a sin?” Sentinel tried to say lightly. “That his behaviour was scandalous, that he was sponsoring shocking displays of immorality?”

Kup growled. “Let me guess, that priest who told you all these things, he’s from Helex? No, don’t answer that, youngling,” the old mech added. “Of course he is. There are very… strong on morality, over there, and any hint of interfacing out of certain circumstances is frowned upon at best.”

“So what if they are?” Sentinel asked, feeling defensive. He had always liked Father Precor, a no nonsense mech who had always dealt strict discipline among the Cadets at the Military School. He gave interesting classes, too, not only on religion but also on history and old Cybertronian, even if Sentinel’s grades in both matters were barely average.

Kup raised a hand. “It’s an opinion, everyone is allowed his own. But Sentinel, you shouldn’t just listen to a mech and not ask your family side of the story.”

Sentinel looked unconvinced. Kup insisted. “Really, does any of what you said even remotely sounds like the Optimus you know and grew up with?”

“Well, it doesn’t,” Sentinel allowed. The Optimus he remembered had been a straight-laced individual, smart and kind, though probably too much of a soft-Spark for Sentinel’s taste. Like him, he hadn’t been overly fond of Alpha Trion’s… activities. When he thought about it, the Optimus depicted by Father Precor didn’t sound much like his cousin. “However,” he added, “people change, and as you put it, I haven’t see Optimus in almost twenty-five vorns.”

“And in almost twenty-five vorns, he hadn’t changed,” Ultra Magnus sighed. “Your cousin didn’t just ‘go to the palace’, Sentinel. In fact, we had no plan to present him to the Court, like we did Rodimus. Once was enough,” he rumbled unhappily, and Sentinel bit his lip as he remembered exactly what had happened with his adoptive sibling.

Although he was a mech and most likely to become a Lord, Rodimus had always been ambivalent about what he desired. One moment he was wondering if he shouldn’t go serve in the Archers Corps, as he was an ace at archery, and the other he was wondering if he shouldn’t dress up and hold a tea party. Then a old friend of Rodimus and Elita’s late Sire, Guardian Prime, had managed to secure himself an invitation to go to the Court, and had asked Rodimus to come along so some obscure problem in the Prime lineage succession could be presented to the King’s justice. Rodimus had long hesitated on how he wanted to appear at the Court. In the end, he had chosen to go as a Lady, wearing a simple but nice and elegant dress Elita had chosen for him -- or so Sentinel had heard; he hadn’t actually seen the dress in question. So he went… and he hadn’t come back.

Surprisingly, King Megatron had… taken notice of young debutante Rodimus. There had been rumors about it too, rumors Sentinel had had a hard time believing when he first heard of it. King Megatron had always been known for having a… keen eye for beautiful mechs, and he had been known since long for having mistresses.

Rodimus, had, from all accounts, joined the ranks of the King’s conquests, though he was never officially named ‘Royal Mistress’ or ‘Favorite’. As it was, whatever liaison happened between the young mech of House Prime and Cybertron King lasted barely three to five vorns. Then the proclamations came that Rodimus, Countess of Athenia, was set to marry Archduke Galvatron of Polyhex, cousin to the King. Ever since, Rodimus must have come to visit once, to present his tutor, adoptive Grandpa and adoptive Great-Uncle his young Sparkling, a little femme Sentinel thought was named Flashpoint.

There were some rumors about that Sparkling, too. Rumors about the date of emergence, which didn’t quite match the date of the Bonding, and as such, rumors Flashpoint may not be Galvatron’s, but his royal cousin’s…

Apparently, the news his ward had ended in the King’s berth and now was Bonded to his cousin had hit his Uncle hard. Sentinel felt some pity for him. “I think I can understand why,” he said carefully. “But in that case, why did you allow Optimus…?”

“We allowed nothing,” Kup groused. “We were ordered to send him.”

Sentinel blinked. Ordered?

Ultra Magnus sighed. “It’s a long story. As you know, Optimus was always fond of art, be it theater, poems… or painting. He liked to decorate the house with various commissioned pieces made by local painters he tried to encourage. In one occasion, he asked for a painter then without fortune called Sunstreaker -- yes, that Sunstreaker who now does the paintings of the Court’s nobles -- to paint a portrait of him to hang in the great gallery with those of our ancestors,” the older mech explained.

Sentinel nodded. It sounded like something Optimus would do, alright. Ultra Magnus continued. “Sunstreaker did a very good job, that much I could tell. He came here to present the finished portrait, but before Optimus could pay him for his work, the artist asked if he could present the painting in a competition, in order to show his work and perhaps gain a few more commissions. You know how you cousin can be when he tries to encourage people. He allowed it. And his portrait ended in a very visited exposition, where the King dropped by to amuse the Queen, whose favored painter was also participating in the competition. And then he saw Optimus’ portrait,” he sighed.

“... oh,” Sentinel said in a small voice. He could see where it was heading. Ever since they were young Sparklings, people had always commented on the good looks of the Magnus heirs and those of their wards. It had always made Sentinel feeling proud and boastful, and it certainly helped him score with the young courtesans he had occasionally frolicked with during his student vorns.

Kup sighed, picking up the tale. “Yes, ‘oh’ indeed. Well, Megatron got very interested in the portrait, and even more in the model. Not even an orn later, an invitation to come at Kaon’s Court came with the mail, addressed to Optimus. Your cousin wasn’t very interested, and sent a reply saying so, citing his need to stay home and take care of the domain. A decacycle later, another missive came, this time pointedly ordering Optimus to come to Kaon. The message wasn’t threatening or anything, but… Well, Optimus judged it was more prudent to obey. So he went, as Count of Haydon, and met the King, who found himself very interested in him, apparently finding him lovelier in real than in a painting. Of course, Optimus was going to stay, and take the title of Countess instead, or so the King decided,” he sighed again. “The rest is history, as they said. Now, Optimus lives at the Court fully, with the status of Favorite of the King, technically Bonded...”

Sentinel blinked. That was a new one. “Technically Bonded? What do you mean, ‘technically Bonded’? Is he Bonded or not? And how come I haven’t heard about it before?!”

Alpha Trion smirked. “That, my dear nephew, is a way to describe a Bond of convenience.” At Sentinel confused look, he chuckled. “You don’t see what I’m talking about? Well, don’t you worry, I’ll explain it simply. Our dear King is rather… possessive with his lovers, but even he must sacrifice to ‘decency’ from time to time. Taking a young, virginal Lady as a lover was a thing, but to keep her around at the Court, without alliance or a good reason to? It’s far harder to pull of, not to mention it is damageable to the Lady’s reputation and standing in society. So, in order to keep him around, our dear King had to Bond off Optimus with someone who would provide him with a status, but who wouldn’t be a rival for your cousin’s affections. That’s why he was quickly married off to someone of our dear King’s choosing, some noble named Stretch, who quickly left the territory to serve as an Ambassador in the Quintesson Empire alongside your Carrier, my dear Sentinel,” he said, sipping his drink.

Sentinel’s mouth dropped open. “Is that even legal?” he asked somewhat stupidly.

Kup took a deep breath, inspiring the fumes of his cy-gar. “Surprisingly, it is,” he said unhappily. “Optimus did agree to Bond with that mech we never even met, and their union was officially recorded at one of Kaon’s Temples. Optimus should now be known and called Countess of Garo, since it’s the title of his Bonded, but nobody ever calls it that, still referring to him as Countess of Haydon. As it was a discreet affair to begin with, it’s normal people outside of Kaon -- and outside of those Optimus told -- don’t know.” He bit into his cy-gar. “It certainly doesn’t help his reputation…”

“So… he is committing adultery himself by interfacing with the King?” Sentinel asked, frowning.

“Yes and no,” Ultra Magnus stated. “Stretch is his Bonded in name only, a convenient excuse to keep Optimus at the Court. He’ll never be Optimus’ mate and share his berth, unless the King agrees to it. It is not adultery in the sense where that Bonding only exist on paper. But some of the more morally intransigent mechas would find it condamnable anyway, for a Bonding is Bonding to them.”

“Optimus could have refused,” Sentinel said immediately. “Both go to the Court and become the King’s Mistress and to marry that Count, I mean.”

“Is that so? Refuse the King’s orders, when we mainly live on pensions allowed by the crown? Pensions that can get diminished at will by the sovereign, should we displease him? Although it’s doubtful King Megatron would have done so, Optimus wasn’t willing to take the risk. He holds family too dearly to risk anything happening to them,” Ultra Magnus sighed. “And now we see the results. He has been Megatron’s official Mistress for eighteen vorns now, stuck in a Bond of convenience for our dear King is jealous in nature, and he bore three Sparklings already…”

“Three?!” Sentinel yelped. “When did he have a third?!” He knew Optimus had supposedly bore two Sparklings whose Sire was obviously King Megatron, but that was the first time he heard of more.

Alpha Trion chuckled. “Oh, five orns ago. The news may not have been discussed much yet, since it still isn’t a mech. Megatron sired yet another femme. Ariel, Optimus called her. Solus and Override are apparently delighted to have a younger sibling, and King Megatron is apparently very pleased himself,” he added. “Then again, he has lot of reasons to be pleased. Optimus’ valve certainly brought him much pleasure, if he stuffed it so much as to have three Sparklings already. My dear nephew’s carrying chamber seems to be very receptive as well. I dare to hope he brings our Lord King to the height of pleasure whenever they frag…”

“ALPHA!” Kup and Ultra Magnus shouted at the same time, a hint of red on their cheeks plating.

Sentinel was even redder. He really, really didn’t want any details. He coughed. “So… Optimus’ behaviour isn’t as shameful as it appears,” he stated. “Still…” he trailed off.

“Yes, still,” Ultra Magnus allowed. “It wasn’t the fate I wanted for my Creation, but I can’t do much about it now, can I? I can’t do much either for Rodimus, though at least in his case, I’m reassured to know he is Bonded, and to a mech who seems to hold him dearly, if as possessively as Megatron holds Optimus.” He looked at his nephew for a moment. “Sentinel, to be honest with you, your wish to become a career soldier doesn’t please me much. I’d rather have you settle down with a mate, have Sparklings and take a… a trade less risky. You could become a fencing instructor, or…”

Sentinel looked at his Uncle with narrowed optics. “Are you saying you will stop me?” he said, carefully not thinking about the mate and Sparklings thing yet.

Ultra Magnus shook his head. “Not at all. It is your decision, and I won’t oppose it. But I don’t approve, for I’d rather see you safe and happy and far away from any battle. Don’t you want to raise a family? It will be harder to do so if you get send oversea, for example.”

“I was thinking of Bonding before I join an unit,” Sentinel said, the words escaping him. He put a hand over his mouth in shock. He hadn’t wanted to say that aloud.

It certainly got the attention of the three older mechs, who looked at their nephew/adoptive GrandCreation differently.

“Is that so?” Kup looked very happy. “Do you have someone in mind already? Someone we know, perhaps?”

Sentinel bit his lips. “Well…” he trailed off.

Alpha Trion snorted. “Don’t search too far, my friend. It is the lovely Elita he was considering. Aren’t I right, Sentinel?”

The blue mech’s lips thinned, even as Kup looked surprised. Ultra Magnus just looked… resigned. “Of course. Elita. I don’t see why I’m surprised.”

He sighed deeply. “I should have seen it coming. Right before you left for Iacon and the Academy, you were already starting to watch her from the corner of your optics. No, no, Sentinel, don’t protest,” he added as his nephew started to open his mouth. “You weren’t exactly subtle after a while. Neither was Optimus, for he too eyed Elita more closely for a while when he was younger. I thought it was only natural; Elita wasn’t related to you, she was a lovely femme and you grew up together. A crush from at least one of you was more or less expected. I don’t fault you for having, like many youngsters, sought love among your sparklinghood friends. I did too, in my time, before I met Solus.” He looked at Sentinel in the optics. “But Sentinel, you do realize a Bond between you is unlikely now?”

Sentinel turned his head to the side. “Because she’s the only left to continue the direct lineage of the Primes, right? Yes, I did realize that,” he mumbled. “It… wasn’t part of my plans. I thought Rodimus would become the heir, and Elita would be eligible for Bonding…”

Alpha Trion smirked. “The best laid plans tend to get easily ruined, don’t they? Of course, nobody could predict our dear little Rodimus would go so far in the world. But you know, Sentinel, you could still Bond her,” he commented, and Sentinel perked up. Alpha Trion’s smirk widened. “Of course, you’d need to abandon your breeches and vestes and put on a good-looking dress, before lying down and let her frag you…”

“No way!” Sentinel blurted out, at the same moment Kup growled a vindictive “Alpha!”

Alpha Trion tutted. “Well, it would be a solution! The Prime line used to be more powerful than the Magnus, a long time ago, and they’re still richer, thank to the investments the dynasty made over the vorns. True, they owns less lands and have currently a less prestigious reputation than the Magnus, but one would argue they’re the superior house…”

“They’re certainly not!” Sentinel exclaimed. “Besides, I’m the only remaining heir to the House of Magnus! Well, there is Optimus,” he allowed, “but since he took the title and status of a Lady, he’s not eligible to transmit the title, is he?”

Ultra Magnus rumbled. “It depends. Under Iacon’s law, who favors Lords as sole heirs, he wouldn’t. But Kaon’s laws are muddier, as they allow descendants of Ladies to revendicate inheritances should the need arise, and Optimus could still name his eldest daughter Solus the presumptive heir to the House. However, it would only concern our branch, the main one,” he added for Sentinel’s benefit. “As Nova’s son, you’re part of the cadet branch. It doesn’t mean you couldn’t inherit the head of the household, though, especially if I don’t have a Creation of my own to handle the duties of Lord. Optimus’ situation being… what it is, it’s true you remain the only member of House Magnus able to take the mantle of Lord and become the new Marquis of Rigel once I’m gone.”

“So it stands to reason I can’t… Bond with Elita,” Sentinel said, wincing. “I won’t become a Lady and carry Sparklings. It’s incompatible with my career objectives and my lifestyle choice. No,” he shook his head, “it is better for me to try and find someone else to Bond with.”

“But you still love Elita all the same, don’t you?” Kup asked softly. Sentinel didn’t answer and just sipped the rest of his drink in stubborn silence. The old mech sighed. “You younglings will end up glitching our processors.”

Alpha Trion raised an optic ridge. “And here you’re always saying the plots of my books are unrealistic!” he chided the other mechs. He then glanced at Ultra Magnus. “Are you so sure that Sentinel is the only member of House Magus able to inherit?”

The other mech frowned. “Of course he is, you know it. Optimus being my only Sparkling, and given I’m still unwilling to Bond again for I’m faithful to Solus’ memory...”

Kup glanced at his son-in-law with a small, sad smile. “Something for which I can only love you for, Son, but you know you didn’t have to. I wouldn’t have been offended had you chosen to take a new mate, who would have provided you with more heirs.”

“I thank you for these words, Kup, but I loved Solus dearly, and it wouldn’t have been correct to do so,” the Head of House Magnus answered calmly. “As I said, I vowed to always remain faithful to her…”

Alpha Trion smirked. “Is that so? Faithful, really? Did you never drink too much and went to spend some time in gallant company, vorns ago?”

Kup growled even as Ultra Magnus stiffened. “And what,” he hissed, “is that supposed to mean?”

The old red mech made a gesture. “Nothing, nothing. Ignore the ramblings of a old mech, would you?” He still looked at Ultra Magnus with a small smirk, and a light in his optics meant the subject would be breached later again. “So, my nephew,” he added, looking at Sentinel,” if not Elita, who would you like to Bond with?”

Sentinel blinked. “I… have no idea,” he said, unsure. “I must admit I’m not sure of how to proceed. I don’t know who’s eligible to a Bond in the nearby nobles families, nor who would be the most interesting to form an alliance with…”

“A Bond isn’t only about alliances, Sentinel,” his uncle reminded him. “It’s also about love. Feeling love or at the very least deep care for the one you will Bond is a minimum in order to make it works.”

Sentinel nodded reluctantly. “I gathered as much. You did love Aunt Solus very much, did you not? And you had a happy life together, so short it was,” he mentioned, reminding his Uncle of the speeches he used to give them when he, Optimus and Rodimus were Younglings.

Ultra Magnus looked at him, frowning a bit. “Indeed. Solus and I Bonded out of love, which granted us a much happier life than my own Creators, or even my Grand-Creators, had. My late Sire, Powered Convoy, and my Carrier Artemisius went through an arranged Bonding, and although they slowly learned to care for each others, they were never what one would call ‘in love’. As for my Grand-Creators…”

Alpha Trion snorted. “Please, don’t remind me of them. Lio Convoy and Archadis were a bad-assorted couple who spent their time sniping at each others. They just disliked each other on general principe. Had the House of Magnus not be in dire financial troubles, and had not Archadis’ family be so desperate for a prestigious alliance, the two would have never ended together. As it was, I’m surprised they never killed each other and managed to produce four Sparklings altogether. I suppose they enjoyed hate-sex,” he mused aloud.

Sentinel purposely overlooked that last part and frowned. “Four? I thought there only was you and Powered Convoy?” Primus, were there other lechers like Alpha Trion out of there?

Alpha Trion nodded, looking a bit sad. “Yes, four. Powered Convoy was the eldest, and I was the youngest, but there also was Beta, our sister, and Ambus. Beta offlined fairly young, after she caught an early case of Cosmic Rust. As for Ambus, he decided to join priesthood and left for a monastery as soon as he was of age, and never gave news ever since. I don’t even know if he’s still alive or not,” he added bitterly, and Sentinel looked at his Great-Uncle’s face more closely. There seemed to be some real hurt in his optics. It surprised him; knowing the rather… libertin character of the old mech, he had never thought he could genuinely feel regret.

Not knowing what to say, he glanced at Ultra Magnus, who just shook his head. Better not open his mouth, then, Sentinel decided.

Kup served new cubes of high-grade with forced cheer. “So, Sentinel, you say you don’t know how to meet potential fiancées? Well, how about we do some searches for you? It wouldn’t be so hard, you know, to go see some of our neighbors and hint you’re seeking a bride. Even if they don’t have someone to offer, I’m sure they could hint at potential candidates. From then, we could organize a ball or two, so you could meet them and see if you feel any attraction toward one of them?”

The blue mech thought about it. It didn’t sound like a bad idea. After more than fifty vorns of absence, he didn’t know their neighbors anymore. He didn’t know, among the mechs of femmes of his generation, who was already Bonded or engaged, and if he was honest with himself, he didn’t want to waste too much time learning the details before making a choice. Having his Uncles and adoptive Grandpa make a pre-selection in which he’d be able to pick up someone up to his tastes was appealing. It would allow him to join the nearest recruitment center sooner, certainly.

From there, he could start to climb the echelons in the army, and come back to Serene Stream during a leave, just in time for that ball Kup was thinking about. He could do it a couple of times, until he found the perfect bride he was dreaming of. Then he could Bond with her -- as he had a strong preference for a femme as mate -- and install her in the Magnus’ Manor of Antilla, whereas he’d be able to start a family and continue the Magnus’ lineage.

Satisfied with his reasoning, he nodded. “That sounds like a good idea. I thank you for your offer, Grandpa.”

Kup smiled. “Think nothing of it, son. I’m just glad to help you. And I’m sure your Uncles will be glad to lend me a hand too,” he added, glancing at Ultra Magnus and Alpha Trion, who just nodded. Sentinel though Ultra did look very relaxed suddenly. He was probably satisfied to see that Sentinel wasn’t obstinate about Elita.

Alpha Trion sipped at a new cube. “Now that, I hope, we’re finished with the drama, can we enjoy some quiet or lighter conversation? I have a book here we could read from…” he said, reaching for a nearby shelf.

Ultra Magnus half-glared at him. “If this is one of your dirty stories, Uncle Alpha,” he warned, and Sentinel glared as well.

The whiskered mech laughed. “Now, now, why do you always expect the worst of me? As much as I’d like to cite you some passages of my latest masterpiece, this is but a simple poetry booklet Optimus sent with his last letter.”

The effect on Ultra Magnus was instantaneous. “Really? A gift from Optimus? How come I never saw it before?” 

“It was addressed directly to me, Ultra. After all, I’m the one who supplies and takes care of our library. He probably thought it was an appropriate gift. The poems aren’t bad; they’re from one of the artists he’s trying to sponsor. I think you’ll enjoy them as well. Shall I?” he asked, leaning in his seat and opening the book at random.

Ultra nodded. Sentinel leaned in his own seat, sipping at the high-grade cube he held, and tried to listen to the recitation. He didn’t dislike poetry, but he wasn’t in the mood to listen to it. Frankly, he’d rather speak of something else, like the troops movements to the East, toward the province of Hexima, which was trying to rebel against the State. He was thinking of joining one of the unit send to police the area, and he would had like to have his Tutors’ advice. The conflict with the rebels promised to be short, and it would be the ideal place for a future promising officer to make his first steps.

Still, to be polite as he knew the older mechs had need and taste for other distractions, and because he was suddenly feeling rather tired, he tilted his head to the side, and listened to Alpha Trion’s voice, the heat of the room and the high-grade slowly lulling him toward recharge…


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Sentinel meets the King

The conflict with the rebels in Hexima wasn’t short, nor was it quickly crushed.

It came as a surprise for most. It wasn’t the first time that what most low-class people liked to call the Kaon Empire -- though its official name was Cybertronian Empire -- traversed a period of internal troubles. It had been a long time, though, since whatever discontent and vocal opposition to the Kaon Dynasty lasted more than two or three orns.

This time the conflict had been going for over seven orns, and showed no sign of stopping soon at the rate things were going. Worse even, some were saying the longer the rebellion of Hexima lasted, the more chances there were of the conflict spreading to other neighboring provinces.

Sentinel didn’t know if it would be a good or a bad thing. On one hand, it would be a chance for him to prove himself. On the other… a generalized conflict would be a disaster not only for the Empire, but for the whole planet.

There was a reason, after all, for Kaon to have invaded its neighbors and slowly transforming the continent into a self-styled Empire. Long before the Kaon Dynasty decided to unite the population under one banner, be they willing or not, Cybertron was full of small kingdoms and city-states, more often than not warring against each other for petty things. Kaon’s expansion had made them stop, as kingdoms fell and were assimilated, becoming provinces administered by various members of Kaon’s royalty and aristocracy, who sometimes took mates in the conquered kingdoms own royal families to guarantee some legitimacy to their rule.

The Kaon Dynasty had brought a long lasting peace and prosperity to Cybertron, something which was said to not have happened until long before the Great Cataclysm. The Kings of Kaon, ruling on most of the planet, aside of a part of the Eastern Continent known as the Quintesson Empire and the newly discovered Western Continent, where colonies were being settled, had always refused the title of Emperors. Old texts hinted that it was because of a mech who wanted to become Emperor that the Great Cataclysm happened, and as harsh as Kaonites could be, they had no desire to repeat the mistakes of the past.

Kings, the old saying said, were more reliable than Emperors.

The Kaon Dynasty worked hard to keep the Empire stable and bring a good life to the inhabitants, with more or less success, sometimes using of political alliances to make sure there wouldn’t be an attempt at secession. It was why King Megatron had Bonded with Starscream of Vos, when the province had started to grumble and hint at possible separation from Kaon. His own Sire, Magmatron, had used of a similar process to chose his Queen.

But for one conflict easily resolved with a Bonding and privileges given to the natal province of the bride, two or three more happened every couple of vorns, and these ones had to be dealt with more or less violently.

Hexima was one of such. The current rebellion had been caused by a bad harvest of mechanicrops, and bad administration of the resources allocated by Kaon to help the population. Hexima’s Duke, who was supposed to distribute the money fairly among the peasants, had simply not. It was highly possible he had embezzled most of it for himself, and Sentinel had heard rumours that the King’s Police had arrested him recently. If he indeed did, then his punishment would be exemplary. Sadly, it was too late to change the course things had taken.

Without the precious crops and without the promised money to buy supplies and fuel, people had started to starve. And starving people were ready to listen to anyone who proclaimed he could help. As it was, a group of anarchists had incited the people to riot and attack the Manors and castles of the local nobles families to pillage them and ‘take back their money’.

From there, the King’s army could only retaliate and be send to bring back order.

It should have been done quickly, and with the less fuss possible.

Instead, more and more people had decided to join in armed conflict and now, the whole province of Hexima was a war zone.

Ducking behind a Beryllium-Oak to avoid a shot in his direction, Sentinel cursed. He cursed even more when his pedes got caught in a root and he fell flat on the muddy ground, soiling the front of his uniform.

“Slaggit,” he mumbled as he started to crawl toward a better shelter, avoiding a volley of shots that went largely over his head.

Hexima was really a sorry place, he decided. Not only because the weather here was absolutely miserable, with rains ranging from the harmless, cold drizzle to the more annoying, sudden downpours and the rare but potentially deadly acid rains, but you never knew when an ambush was up. To add to the difficulty, the field commander in charge of His Majesty’s troops was, simply put, incompetent, or so Sentinel thought.

Really, how hard was it to crush a rebellion?

The rumour mill said that whoever was in charge had recently gotten chewed off by General Strika, King Megatron’s Head of the Armies. The femme was said not to tolerate idiots or incompetents, and rumours were saying she was coming here to take command.

Other rumours were saying the King himself was going to come to personally deal with the rebellion.

That, Sentinel had a hard time believing. Megatron was rumoured to be an excellent combatant, but he hadn’t put a pedes on a battlefield in almost a hundred vorns, ever since his Bonding to Queen Starscream. He had been more involved in producing heirs than dealing with conflicts, letting his loyal Generals do as they pleased.

Megatron, coming to Hexima? Unthinkable!

There were, Sentinel had to admit, a couple of regiments which had come in recently, but he hadn’t see the uniforms of the King’s own private Guard, surest indication the royal family was here. Besides, Queen Starscream was about due to give birth to yet another Sparkling, and it stood to reason the King wouldn’t leave him to wage war while the Queen remained in such a delicate condition.

A wild shot nicked the shoulder of his uniform, thankfully not hitting the armor underneath, and he cursed anew. Of all the rotten luck to have gotten separated from the rest of the bataillon! Of course, nobody had expected the rebels to actually thrown grenades at them, and they had had to scatter quickly to avoid the explosions. Then they had gotten shot at from many directions, and most of them had to run without checking if the others were following, Sentinel among them. Thankfully, he knew he wasn’t lost; he recognized the area, and knew just what direction take to regain the camp.

First, however, he had to get the slagger(s) shooting at him to stop!

He crawled a bit faster toward large rocks behind which he knew he could find adequate cover before retaliating. With careful gestures, he took off his standard rifle from his shoulders. The attach system wasn’t very practical, and he wondered briefly if it was true, that their species once had access to personal storage space in their armors; if so, he regretted they had lost the ability; it would have been simpler.

Carefully, he went to his knees than to his pedes, taking aim and quickly scanning the area before him for the slightest movements. His vents worked slowly to better steady his frame as he finally noticed a movement, and glimpsed the color of a dark colored-cloth. He pulled the trigger without a second thought, and heard a mech voice yelp in pain.

Gotcha! He thought with satisfaction. He hadn’t shoot to kill, so he knew his target was only injured, and could be easily captured. Still, he didn’t leave the protection of the rocks right away. There was still the possibility a second or even a third shooter was hidden somewhere before him. He waited for almost a whole joors, the injured rebel pained moans echoing around. Finally deciding there was no danger, Sentinel took a cautious step to the side.

Several shots ricocheted against the stones, and he yelped and jumped back behind his shelter. Primus damnit! There were more rebels! What was he supposed to do now?

“Cease fire!” a strong voice ordered.

The discharges of laser fire stopped immediately. The voice resonated again. “You, behind the rocks! Identify yourself by orders of His Majesty’s troops!”

Sentinel blinked. He had almost gotten shot at… by mechs on the same side as him? Wouldn’t that have been ironic, he decided, feeling grumpy. Friendly fire was always a risk, he knew that, but frag!

As loudly as he could, he shouted back. “Sentinel, Count of Antilla, soldier of His Majesty Megatron!”

There was a silence then, suddenly, a snicker, and Sentinel distinctly heard someone say, almost laughing. “See, I told you it couldn’t be a rebel!” A few silhouettes appeared between the trees, spotting the same blue and white uniform as him and surrounding the enemy mech still lying on the ground, pointing their weapons at him, and Sentinel once again cautiously left the cover of his shelter. Advising a mech spotting a red vest, typical of most officers, he saluted wordlessly.

“At ease, soldier,” the mech said simply. “Got lost, eh?” he asked a bit sardonically.

Sentinel almost bristled, but firmly kept a hold on his temper. “Actually, Sir, I was not. I’m perfectly aware of where I am. I was separated from my bataillon during a reconnaissance due to a rebel attack. I was trying to get back to our positions so I could go and seek help for my comrades. Sadly, however, I was unable to reach the camp, for I was followed by at least one rebel who kept shooting at me and forced me to take cover,” he said, making a gesture at the downed mech who was being examined by a medic. “I was able to wound him and was going to check on him when I encountered your… unit,” he finished simply.

The officer hummed. “Hmm, yes, it’s coherent. Another member or your unit managed to reach the camp and raise the alarm. More units have been dispatched to retrieve the members of your patrols, but we hadn’t expected to find one of you so close to the camp. We heard the shot and headed over, and decided to be… cautious,” he said simply. He looked at the injured. “Your shot, you say?” Sentinel nodded slowly, wordlessly. “Not bad, soldier. Not bad at all.”

Sentinel felt like smiling at the small praise. It wasn’t much, certainly, but it was a start. He saluted. “Just doing my duty, Sir,” he said proudly.

“Continue like that, then. I’m sure you’ll do great things if you keep it up. But for now, I suggest you head back to the camp and get a change of uniform,” he said, nodding at Sentinel’s mud covered clothes, making the Prime blush. “There’s a review heading up. Some big shot just came in and a general inspection is planned. You didn’t hear it from me, of course,” he added with a small smirk.

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir,” Sentinel answered.

The officer shrugged. He turned toward his mechs. “Wasp, Chase, Freeway, Tap-Out, you’ll escort our fellow soldier and bring the prisoner to camp.”

“Yes, Captain Powerglide!” “Yes, sir!” came from the four named mechs.

Well, that was fast, Sentinel decided as he refused the help of one of the bots -- Tap-Out, he thought -- to walk. He may be dirty and tired and he felt like drinking his weight in energon and eat a few roasted Photon-Potatoes, but he didn’t need someone to make sure he didn’t stumble. What would he look like once they arrived at the camp if he did? He was trying to project a strong, charismatic image here! Not the image of a weakling!

He felt thankful the bunch of soldiers didn’t insist. Instead, they concentrated their effort to make the prisoner walk. Sentinel had caught him in the hip, impairing his ability to walk alone or without moaning. it didn’t seem to phase anyone, though. Sentinel deduced the mechs, despite being rather, well, small, were part of an old regiment, and not a group of young Cadets like he was. None of them were nobles -- there was no distinctive emblems on their vests, like there was on his -- but Sentinel felt envious all the same, for these mechs had the experience he didn’t have and so wished to get.

The walk to the camp felt both incredibly short and long at the same time. Sentinel felt exhausted now that the excitation had dropped. Finally, they came in sight of the assembly of tents and a few metal barracks that stood inside a large protective field. Sentinel felt his shoulders sag in relief at the sight of it. The sentinels posted at the edge let them pass without much fuss, and they were allowed in the field right away.

As the group saluted him and left to drag the prisoner away to a holding cell, Sentinel called out. “Where can I get a clean uniform?”

The possible inspection was making him nervous. He needed to make a good impression on his superiors, and for that, he needed to be spotless. However, there was no way he’d manage to clean up the mess on his best and breeches, to say nothing of the sorry state of his stockings. And he had even lost his tricorn! Well, temporarily at least; he had found it later on covered in mud, and was hesitant to put it back ever since. With reluctance, he had done so, but he longed to throw it away. No, he decided, shaking his head. He needed to get to the quartermasters tents and get new stuff. However, he didn’t know exactly which one it was, having previously not needed their services.

One of the mechs made a vague gesture. “Around there, a large round tent, you can’t miss it.” And with that he was gone.

Sentinel groused. Well, it was pretty vague, alright. A big round tent over there… He could see at least four or five round tents in that direction. Hesitating, and finally shrugging, he headed for the largest. It seemed logical that the supplies would take the largest one.

So sure of his reasoning he was he entered directly, not even peering inside to check.

It was why the moment which followed was very, very awkward.

As Sentinel entered, a head raised, and red optics narrowed before a smirk slowly started to spread over a gray-colored face. “Well, soldier, fancy meeting you here. Do you always barge in unannounced?”

Sentinel’s mouth dropped open in shock.

It wasn’t the supply tent. No, far from it. Apparently, he had barged in the private tent of an officer, one he was unfamiliar with. Never before had he see the tall, dark-colored mech in a golden waistcoat and black breeches. Red optics, betraying a Southern ascendancy, were focused on him. The mech was sitting at a large table covered with various maps. And he was…

Sentinel quickly looked away, cheeks flushed, as he tried to not look at what the unknown mech was doing. Still, he had caught the fact the breeches were partly pulled down, the panel protecting the interface array was retracted, and he had definitely caught a glimpse of a half-erected spike.

Oh Primus, he had walked on an officer giving himself some pleasure! Fragfragfragfragfrag! The mech was going to crucify him for his impoliteness in coming in unannounced! He was going to rip into him and probably make a report on him because he had caught him with his pants down when he should have probably been working! Frag, frag, frag! He thought desperately.

“I… I’m sorry Sir,” he stammered. “I… I’m going to go,” he said quickly as he took as step back, trying to reach the door opening.

“Please, don’t,” came the sharp reply. The ‘please’ sounded more like an order than a kind word, and Sentinel froze. “Come closer, soldier.”

Gulping, Sentinel did as he was told. The mech was going to shout at him, he was sure of it. But the unknown mech stayed silent, just eyeing Sentinel at long last, looking him up and down, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Tell me, soldier, why did you come here?”

“I… I… It… It was a mistake, Sir,” Sentinel gulped. “I was thinking the supply office, and I was lead to believe it was here, and I wouldn’t have interrupted you had I realized…” The mech made a gesture and Sentinel fell silent, Spark beating fast in its casing.

“An honest mistake, I’m sure. I can see why you were in such a hurry to… get changed,” he said softly, looking closely at Sentinel’s mud-splattered clothes. Sentinel blushed. He so didn’t need to be reminded of his pitiful appearance. “Well, why don’t you take off that vest? I’m sure you’ll feel better once you do.”

Sentinel blinked. “Sir?”

“I insist, soldier. Take of your vest. And if you could be so kind as to give me your name?” the mech added as Sentinel started to uneasily undo the buttons of his uniform. “I’m quite saddened to find I don’t have a file to match your face, which is quite lovely, by the way,” he commented offhandedly.

Sentinel gulped. The compliment felt nice, but he wasn’t sure he liked it. Not when the officer’s spike was still half-visible from where he stood. “I’m Sentinel of House Magnus, Count of Antilla,” he tried to say as calmly as possible.

The officer looked thoughtful. “Antilla… and House Magnus. Are you in any way related to the Countess of Haydon? The lovely Optimus?”

Sentinel stiffened. Perhaps there was a card to play here. Optimus’ position as the King’s Favorite could perhaps help keep him out of trouble. “He’s my cousin, Sir,” he said, trying to sound confident. “We grew up together.”

“Is that so? I’m surprised he never felt the need to have us meet, then. Though perhaps he was worried his beauty would be eclipsed by your own, my dear Sentinel,” the mech almost purred.

Sentinel blinked. “How would he have us met each other, Sir?” he asked a bit stupidly. “I didn’t know you were a friend of Optimus,” he said, trying to regain some balance.

The tall mech chuckled. “Oh, I like to think I’m more than a friend to dear Optimus. After all…”

He was interrupted by a voice at the door. “Sir, Sir! Great news, Sir!”

“General Strika,” the mech said calmly. “I don’t doubt you have ‘great news’ on our progresses, but I’m afraid I am somewhat busy at the moment. Would you mind coming back in a megacycle? Of course, if you need my judgement on something, I’m more than happy to let you free rule. Do as you please and bring the rebels to their heels.”

Sentinel’s Spark almost skipped a beat. General Strika was just outside? Wanting an audience with the mech just in front of him? General Strika, THE General of the armies? THE War Minister? The only person she’d refer to as Sir would be…

He thought he was going to have a Spark attack.

“Very well, Lord Megatron,” the femme rumbled. “I’ll prepare the troops until you’re… free.” There was shuffling and the sound of heavy steps becoming more distant.

Sentinel remained frozen where he was, unable to keep his optics off the silhouette of Megatron, King of Cybertron, King of Charon, Grand Duke of Lucifer and Grand Prince of Styx. It was the first time he saw him. Megatron seldomly commanded portraits of himself, and he had always been against the customs of stamping the face of the monarchs on credits, preferring simpler, easier to make designs. And, as Sentinel had never been to the Court, he never had the chance to see him before.

His King. He had barged in on his King.

Oh slag!

“Please, do come closer, Sentinel,” Megatron asked, smirking a bit. Like an automat, Sentinel obeyed. At the last moment, he managed to remind himself to bow, taking off his unsteady, dirty tricorn, optics low and focused on the floor. A floor made of precious carpets covering a sheet of metal put directly on the muddy soil, he noticed distantly. The tricorn fell from his suddenly stiff fingers, and he blushed at it splattered on the carpets.

King Megatron kept watching him, smirking. “At ease, young Lord,” he purred. “I take it you hadn’t realized who exactly you were speaking to? Never mind,” he added. “Seldom people can, if they haven’t had the chance to come to the Court or seen me in my rare travels to the provinces of the kingdom. I find this anonymity quite useful sometimes,” he smirked. “But please, don’t listen too much to my rambling, and take your eases. You were removing your vest, weren’t you? Drop it,” he asked casually.

Sentinel dropped it immediately after fighting with a last button, his cheeks red. Appearing before an officer in a less than pristine uniform had rattled him enough, but to learn he had done so before the King himself…! It was more than humiliating! He felt a bit guilty for the carpets, strangely enough. The mud of his vest would certainly stain it too, and far more than the one on his tricorn did. It really was bad manners, a part of his CPU not completely overwhelmed with awe and fright whispered to him.

Megatron nodded. “Good, good. But I see that your shirt is also soaked! Please, do remove it too. We wouldn’t want you to catch a virus, would you?” he asked demurely.

Sentinel frowned a bit at that, even as his hands automatically went to unbutton the shirt. Sure, the shirt was a bit wet, but it was far from soaked. And really, a virus? Most virus didn’t catch like that. There were some, true, that used humidity and prolonged contact with infected fabric to spread, but Sentinel didn’t thought he was at risk… was he? Even so, it was the King asking him, and he couldn’t refuse… could he?

The shirt came off and Sentinel cautiously put it on the floor with the vest, along, for good measure, with his lace cravat. The King hadn’t asked he took it down, but he had done so anyway. It seemed to please him, so Sentinel thought he had been right to do so. Megatron nodded. “Very good. I see that your stockings are also in dire need to a good clean up, and they definitely need to dry. Why don’t you also take them off?”

Sentinel hesitated. “Sir?” Taking off his top clothes was one thing, but his stockings? Of course, they were dirty, but…

“Your stockings, Lord Sentinel. Please.” Came the answer, short and to the point, and Sentinel obeyed, feeling a bit silly. Still, even as he sat to remove them, he couldn’t help but glance at his King… and turn his head away quickly. Getting to the floor made his face level with the King’s crotch, and reminded Sentinel painfully of what he had just interrupted. Megatron’s spike was still half-erected, poking a bit out of the pulled down breeches. He gulped.

Megatron caught his gaze and smirked. “No need to be so shy, my dear. You can look.” Sentinel glanced and quickly turned his head again. Megatron laughed. “So shy! But I must insist. Do. Look.” he said again, optics narrowing a bit.

Reluctantly, Sentinel did look and forced himself not to turn away. Megatron made a pleased sound. “Better. I see you’re curious,” he commented offhandedly. Sentinel blinked. No, he wasn’t curious at all; he was just mortified. Megatron leaned forward. “Would you like to… touch it, Sentinel?” he asked in a hush.

The blue mech almost jumped. “Sir…!” he started out, optics wide. Surely, he hadn’t heard…?

Megatron rumbled. “Please, do come nearer, my dear, and put your hands on it.”

Sentinel shook a bit. “My Lord, I can’t possibly…”

“Touch. It.” The voice betrayed nothing, and the order was clear. Could he disobey the King? Could he really, if he wanted to stay in the army and not be discharged dishonorably?

Sentinel gulped. No, no he couldn’t. Discarding his stockings, he knelt. Distantly, his CPU kept pestering him about the mud on his breeches and the mess he was going to make on the King’s clothes if he came too close. But the breeches were good; so long he had the breeches, it wasn’t like the King would ask for anything more, right?

Slowly, he reached for the… thing between his King’s legs and wrapped a hand around it. Megatron hissed in pleasure. “Yeesssss, like that, my dear,” he purred. “Why don’t you also wrap your other hand?” he asked pleasantly. “Show me what you can do with them.”

Sentinel slowly nodded and, with some reluctance, wrapped his second hand around the half erected staff. Unsure of himself, for he had never done that -- he had fragged valves, but had never paid much attention to his partners’ spikes, if they even had spikes to begin with! -- he squeezed it lightly. From Megatron pleasured moan, he supposed he was doing it right. He squeezed it again, and tried to move his hands up and down the slowly stiffening spike.

“You’re doing very well, Sentinel,” Megatron commented, one of his hands shooting forward to cup the cheek of the blue mech. “You have very soft hands. I trust you like touching? Yes? I was sure you did,” he chuckled before Sentinel could even start to formulate an answer. “However, wouldn’t you also like to… taste?” he purred, and Sentinel startled and jerked back a bit. However, Megatron caught one of his hands before he could remove it and squeezed.

“Now, now, no need to be so nervous, dearest,” he purred. “You’ll just have to take me into that pretty mouth of yours and suck a little bit. Nothing too hard or fancy, is it? You would please me immensely if you did so, Lord Sentinel. And isn’t it pleasing me the aim of each and all of my subjects?” he purred again.

“It… it is, Sir,” Sentinel said, optics wide and face decomposed. Oh Primus, he couldn’t…! There was no way he could… he couldn’t just do that! But the King was slowly bringing his face closer to his half-erected spike -- which, despite still not being fully erect, was noticeably bigger than earlier -- and he was smirking down at him and he just couldn’t run outside clad in only his breeches, what would he look like if he did? He… had no choice.

Swallowing dryly, he tentatively opened his mouth. Megatron smiled and gently helped Sentinel’s hand guide the spike until it was about to hit the lips of the blue mech. Sentinel considered it with a heavy Spark. How was he supposed to process? Trying to remember his nightly escapades with the pleasurebots near the Academy, he gave the King’s rod a tentative lick. It made Megatron purr, which Sentinel thought was encouraging. He licked the still growing staff again, several times, eliciting several pleasured noises from the King. Still, it could only be considered as a prelude, and Sentinel knew it. He had been asked -- ordered -- to take it in his mouth, and he’d end up doing so. Already, Megatron was pushing his spike against Sentinel’s lips, asking for access to the wet, hot mouth of his subject.

With apprehension and slight panic, Sentinel let him, opening his mouth wide for the shaft to penetrate. Megatron didn’t ram it down, to Sentinel’s relief. He pushed inside slowly, seemingly pleased by Sentinel’s attempts to roll his glossa around the spike. Futile, really, since it was, well, rather massive and Sentinel’s glossa not so long, but the attempt definitely seemed to put him in a good mood.

“Hmm, yes, like that,” he purred. “You do have a divine mouth, Sentinel dearest. I’ll try to remember it.” Sentinel steadily ignored it, trying not to panic as the King’s spike seemed to grow even larger and slide down his throat, making him almost choke and gag. It amused Megatron. “Not very used to oral, are you? That is fine. A mech your age has all the time to learn.”

Except, Sentinel certainly didn’t want to learn how to do… that. Not again, not for anyone. It was just a one time thing, because he couldn’t refuse his King, but he’d never do it again, not even with his future spouse!

As he frantically swore it to himself, he was surprised when the King started to pull his spike out, to Sentinel’s relief. He eyed the rod covered in oral lubricant with a mix of disgust, wariness and fascination. It was indeed bigger than when he had first took it in his mouth… and it was massive! There were several ridges all along the length, starting from just under a slightly bulbous tip to the bottom of it.

Gazing at Sentinel and smirking at his stare, Megatron chuckled. “Pretty, don’t you think?” Sentinel forced himself to nod. Pretty wasn’t the first word that came to his mind. Terrifying or intimidating was more like it. “Would you care for another taste?”

Sentinel swallowed. “Oh, I wouldn’t dare, Sir,” he said quickly. “I mean… I can’t hope to really appreciate its magnificence,” he said quickly as he saw Megatron’s frown a bit. “It’s far too good for me!” he added again.

It made Megatron laugh. “Is that what you think, my lovely mech? Oh, but don’t worry. You’ll acquire a taste for it soon enough. And it would really please to have your pretty lips and stroke my length some more,” he purred. “And perhaps you’d like to take the tip back in your mouth, to start getting better used to the taste?”

It wasn’t suggesting, Sentinel understood it perfectly, and with a heavy Spark, he approached his face again to… please his King. In a way, he thought as he licked the tip of the fully erected spike, he kinda prefered it that way. Having that massive member in front of him felt somewhat safer than have it down his intake, where it had almost choked him. He supposed he ought to be thankful the King had obviously noticed his discomfort and took it out, even if he insisted that Sentinel still use his glossa and lips to please him.

He really hoped the King would overload soon. Not that he would be overly proud of himself if he managed to make the King overload, no. But if he did, then he’d be able to go and perhaps entirely forget about this sordid story, and giving oral to his King would just become a dirty, shameful secret he’d never reveal to anyone. It was just oral, he tried to convince himself. Nothing more than oral, and he probably had tons of soldiers and officers do it before him. Sentinel wouldn’t specially stood out, aside of being related to Optimus. Sentinel could fade into anonymity once it was over.

Megatron, however, seemed to have other plans.

For a moment, he seemed happy enough to have Sentinel suck on his spike. But after a moment, he held up a hand. “I think this will be sufficient, my dear.” With relief, Sentinel let go of the tip he had been holding in his mouth, the thing running over his glossa. “Please, get to your pedes,” Megatron added.

With precautions, Sentinel rose up. A small part of his CPU felt very alarmed, though. The King hadn’t overloaded yet, and for some reason, he found it worrisome. Megatron’s next words certainly confirmed it.

“Remove your breeches,” he said simply, a glint in his optics.

Sentinel gaped. “Sir!”

He couldn’t do that! That would be perfectly indecent! Well, somehow.

The use of clothes was more to mark social status than anything else, as well as adding a very thin protection to the plating of their natural armor. A long time ago, when their species could still transform, clothes hadn’t even existed, and mechs and femmes alike had wandered in only armor. But society had changed as it reformed after the Great Cataclysm, and to to it in this day and age would be preposterous!

Anyway, one didn’t get fully undressed before someone else… aside of a lover, for example.

…

Oh Primus! Sentinel’s optics widened. The King couldn’t sincerely be wanting to…?

He was currently looking at Sentinel with a small smirk. “Is something wrong?” he asked sweetly. “After all, I’m only thinking about your comfort. They are dirty, are they now? And they must also feel quite damp. I’m sure you’d be much more comfortable without them.” He insisted on some words, and Sentinel frantically thought of a way to keep them on.

“B… but Sir, it wouldn’t be decent,” he said quickly.

Megatron raised an optic ridge. “Is that so? But how would it be indecent, my dear? After all, I’m the only one here, and I won’t be bothered by your lack of clothing articles. Do remove them… please,” he added as an afterthought.

Sentinel stood frozen for a moment, and Megatron’s optics narrowed. “Well? No need to be so shy, my young mech. Of course, if you’re so unsure… perhaps you would like me to help you?” he asked, purring.

That managed to get Sentinel to move as he frantically shook his head. “N… no, no Sir! It won’t be necessary!” he said as he started to the his fabric belt around his waist, making his breeches looser -- they were already part undone already, for he had had to unfasten them at the knees when he had pulled down his stockings. The belt fell to the floor without a noise, and Sentinel reached the buttons holding the breeches closed. There were five in all, all of them silver in colors, softly glinting under the light of the lantern shining over them.

Slowly, hesitantly, he managed to undo the first two before the King’s hands over his owns stopped him. He looked up, feeling nervous, for Megatron had left his seat and was now in front of him, optics focused on the slowly opening breeches, and the small amount of pelvic armor they were revealing.

“May I?” he asked in a low tone, not even waiting for a startled Sentinel’s hesitating answer before undoing the next button. The King seemed to take a deep breath through his vents as the breeches further opened, showing even more pelvic plating… and the upper edge of Sentinel’s interface panel. “Beautiful,” he breathed.

Sentinel fidgeted uneasily. He swallowed dryly as Megatron undid the final two buttons, and his breeches started to slowly slide down his hips, helped by the King lightly tugging them along. He yelped when suddenly, large hands grabbed his aft and roughly lifted him before putting him on the field table. Instinctively, to not fall flat on his back, he grabbed the first thing allowing to remain standing -- the King’s jacket-covered shoulders.

“My, my, eager, aren’t we?” the King smirked down at him as he finished to make the breeches slide down and fall to the floor, making Sentinel’s cheeks flush madly, his hands moving automatically in front of his interface panel. Dear Primus, he had never felt so vulnerable as he was now. Nor did he ever feel so trapped.

“No need to be so shy, dearest,” Megatron chuckled as he leaned forward, making Sentinel trying to jerk back, but to no avail as lips crushed his in a rough kiss. Optics wide, muffled noises escaped him as hands started to roam over his frame, even as he was pushed down to lie flat on the table, a fabric-covered knee pushing apart his owns. He tried to resist for a few kliks, but the knee became more insistent and more forceful, even as a hand started to slowly stroke him between the legs, right over his panel.

Megatron broke the kiss with a grin and Sentinel panted. “You taste sweetly, little mech.”

Sentinel hesitated to answer, a shudder going through him as the hand between his legs rubbed his panel with more insistence. “Uh, thank you, Sir?” he whimpered, vents working hard as heat started to pool underneath his panel. He wasn’t feeling overly excited, but the insistent touch between his legs made his frame react all the same.

“Thank me for speaking out the truth? My, such a polite mech, and such a shy one,” the King grinned, one hand cupping Sentinel’s cheek and lightly stroking it with his thumb. “Open,” he said in a whisper as he leaned forward to kiss Sentinel again, his spike rubbing uncomfortably against the blue mech’s thigh.

Sentinel whimpered again as he did as he was told -- or rather, his frame obediently followed the order he was being given. Megatron broke the kiss and leaned back, rising up to look down at the body offered to him. “Perfect,” he purred as he took sight of the other mech’s valve. It seemed a bit small, but he could already imagine it, tight, hot and wet around his spike. “I think the two of us will have much fun together,” he grinned, purposely rubbing his spike against the inside of Sentinel’s thighs.

But Sentinel didn’t want to have ‘fun’! He didn’t want to… to spread his legs for anyone, even for the King! Right now, he was fighting the irrepressible need to cross his legs and hide his interface array from the King’s hungry look. However, he knew it would only postpone the inevitable, and that Lord Megatron would probably only find it ‘endearing’ or something like that.

He yelped when an insistent, large forefinger started to tease the edge of his valve and slightly pushed in. He heard Megatron take a deep breath through his vents as he felt some resistance to the push.

“What’s that? No… Is that…?” His optics widened slightly and then he started to chuckle. The chuckled blossomed into a booming laugh. “My, is that an actual seal?” he asked, purring. “Primus, what a treat you’re gifting me with! It’s quite an honor for me to be your first. Is that an honor for you too, my dear?” he asked, his finger pushing in and out of Sentinel’s valve lightly, slowly, stroking nodes and slowly stretching the tight opening, trying to incite the body to relax and start produce its lubricants.

Sentinel’s valve reflexively clenched around the invader and he moaned. “Y… yes, my Lord,” he moaned again, hips buckling a bit. “I… I don’t think I could have find a better mech to be the first to… ravish me,” he groaned trying to wiggle away from the invasive finger, but Megatron’s other hand shoot up to grab his hip and hold him still.

The words came straight out of some romance novel Elita had read to them aloud when they were Younglings at Serene Stream. He remembered how much they had giggled at the emphasised words of love and passion used by the characters. The novel hadn’t been graphic at all, concentrating more on feelings than actual interfacing, unlike Alpha Trion’s dirty books, so Ultra Magnus had tolerated their reading. After all, his wards were growing up and learning about life, so such a ‘light’, ‘innocent’ book was a necessary evil for their education.

The word ‘ravish’ had stuck him at the time, and now he found unconsciously using it in a rather awkward situation.

It seemed to please Megatron, though, if he had to judge by the further rubbing of his spike against him, the way the finger worked faster into him, going deeper without so much as damaging the seal inside, and the purr the large grey mech produced. “Ravish? Indeed, I will ‘ravish’ you, long and hard,” he purred loudly, a second finger pressing at the rim of his valve.

Sentinel turned his head to the side with a loud moan as that second digit slowly slide inside, spreading his valve further. He could feel his valve getting hotter and, to his shame, wetter, as he started to produce lubricant, copious amounts of it even. Megatron was kissing him again, his fingers working at an odd angle as they started to scissor him open, and his spike kept rubbing against his thighs.

“Hmm… aah… ah… M… My Lord,” he panted as Megatron once again broke the kiss to start licking his cheeks. “M… My Lor… Lord… S… Sir… please,” he whimpered.

“You aren’t ready yet for me, my dear,” Megatron whispered to him. “If I’d filled you up now, I would hurt you, and hurting you is the last thing on my mind. It isn’t in pain I want you to scream, but in rapture as I’m making you bounce on my spike,” he said, optics shining with lust.

Sentinel’s valve clenched around the two fingers inside him, hard, to his great surprise. He wasn’t getting turned on by Lord Megatron’s dirty talking… was he? He keened as he felt pleasure shoot through his frame, hips buckling once more. Megatron chuckled at the display, obviously very pleased. A third finger started to press along the rim of his valve, slowly pushing in. None of the fingers were going very deeply, simply brushing against the seal, never fully getting in contact with it, while still simulating the frame. Megatron kept kissing him everywhere and muffled Sentinel’s pants and moans with his own mouths, intertwining their glossas together, sucking on his lips.

Lubricants was slowly, steadily dropping from his valve, making their way around Megatron’s fingers, staining his thighs, and Sentinel felt somewhat… dirty. He liked to have his armor clean and spotless, even more so than his clothes. Having lubricants staining them… it made him want to shudder, but all the shaking he went through was from pleasure.

The amount he produced felt admonishing to him. He hadn’t thought his frame could produce so much, even though his CPU and Spark certainly weren’t in the ‘facing. Was something wrong with him? Megatron didn’t seem to think so, too, giving the way he was looking at him.

“Good, good,” he said in a low voice. “I think it’s time we… took things to the next level, don’t you think?” he asked casually, his fingers slowly withdrawing entirely from Sentinel’s valve.

The blue mech shuddered and his hips buckled as he keened at the loss of the fingers, his valve spasming rapidly. His frame wanted more. His mind, however, was utterly terrified, for Megatron was lowering his own breeches further, making sure nothing would stand between his spike and Sentinel’s valve. Large hands went to grab his hips, and he also shouted.

“Sir! W… Wait!” he panicked. Megatron paused, an optic ridge raised as he contemplated the Count of Antilla. “I… we… we can’t do it here,” he said quickly, trying to gain time.

“Oh? Is that so?” the King asked sounding slightly displeased by the interruption. Sentinel’s fists tightened and grasped the paper-like sheet underneath him. Paper-like sheet… The maps!

“I… I… the maps, Sir! We… they’re going to get… to get dirtied,” he stammered. “We… I wouldn’t want… wouldn’t want to accidentally destroy a battle plan or intel on rebels positions!” There! It sounded like a logical reason, right?

Megatron tilted his head to the side, looking like he hadn’t thought about it at all, before chuckling. “Such a loyal and dedicated soldier. But worry not, my dear. General Strika has copies. Even if we… dirty these ones, rest assured we have a full replacement ready. Now, where were we?” he pondered. “Ah, yes,” he purred, taking a steadier hold on Sentinel’s hips and slowly bringing him over, lining his spike with the smaller mech’s valve.

Sentinel swallowed dryly. That was it. Mind almost shutting down in terror, he went half-limp in the King’s arms as the large grey mech’s spike nudged his opening, the tip slowly, very slowly sliding inside, stretching him in a way the fingers had only hinted at. He keened as more of the shaft pushed in. His limp state was, though he didn’t acknowledge it, helping; had he been tenser, it wouldn’t have slid so easily.

He kept moaning loudly and panting as Megatron’s spread the virgin walls of his valve, breaking his seal entirely, filling him -- no, stuffing him so full he thought his valve was going to burst. The King, all the while, muttered praises and soft words of encouragement to his new lover, thumbs gently stroking his pelvic plating. He himself was moaning as he buried himself in that gloriously tight, hot valve.

Primus, he liked breaking in sealed mechs and femmes.

“Does it feel good, dearest?” he asked, dragging his spike slowly over a cluster of nodes he had felt earlier, eliciting a loud cry from the handsome blue mech.

“It… It does, My Lord,” the mech whimpered between two moans, making Megatron purr.

At long last, his spike was fully buried into the panting mech, who shuddered, his valve rippling around his shaft in an exquisite manner. He wanted nothing more than to start moving and frag that cute little mech, long and hard, but he took pity on him and waited until he had adjusted to his length fully. He wasn’t cruel with his lovers, after all, be they a one time occurrence, a spouse or a Mistress; however, he could readily say he enjoyed teasing.

The moment he decided Sentinel’s frame had relaxed enough, he started to move, slowly withdrawing part of his spike before pushing it in anew, making the little mech under him gasp and moan loudly as the sensor nodes of his valve were hit, stroked, teased. The mech’s face was distorted in pleasure, his arms shooting out to grasp the King’s arms to steady himself.

“S… Sir,” he moaned. “Ah… ah… S… Sir!”

“You can call me by my name, my dear,” the King said, feeling magnanimous. He was in an excellent mood already. The mech underneath him was very responsive to any and all of his thrusts, wiggling excitedly, hips bucking, valve clenching and tightening reflexively in rhythm with the movement of his spike,...

The mech was made for love, he decided, not for a battlefield. He’d be better suited to warm Megatron’s berth than to charge at random enemies.

“M… Megatron!” the blue mech shouted as the King thrusted into him, deep. His valve rippled and clenched hard around Megatron’s length, and his shouts took a higher pitch as he overloaded, the King’s name on his lips, optics darkening as he went limp for a moment, properly knocked out by the strength of his first valve overload.

Megatron groaned and had to force himself not to overload just yet, as tempting as it was. His Spark was flattered; not only did the pretty mech overload with his name on his lips, but Megatron had managed to knock him out! He chuckled as he continued to thrust readily in and out of his lover’s valve. The limp body bounced with his thrusts, and soft, pleasured moans escaped the blue mech’s throat as he was fragged continuously.

It continued for several breems before blue optics lightened again, even as the moans became louder, showing Sentinel was awakening… just in time for his second overload, which almost knocked him down again. He just keened loudly, fingers feebly grasping the fabric of Megatron’s golden vest.

“M… Mega… Megatron,” he whimpered.

“Yes, my dear?” he purred.

“Aah… ah… aah… hmm… ah… Meg… Megatron,” came the whimper again, lacking coherence.

Megatron thrusted deeply again, chuckling. “Yes, dear? What do you wish me to do? Do you wish me to stop? Or…” he paused. “Do you wish me to continue fragging you, until you can’t walk?” he purred.

Sentinel keened and nodded feebly. It was hard to say to what he was nodding, but Megatron chuckled. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Relax, pet, and enjoy the ride,” he chuckled, his thrusts picking up, going steadily faster, his spike burying deep into the well-lubricated, receptive valve.

Oh, this mech was a keeper, he decided.

He continued to thrust in and out for a while, smirking as he made Sentinel go through several more overloads, the mech a limp puddle of pleasure in his arms. He was, Megatron decided, lovely like that. He wouldn’t mind seeing him like that again… wouldn’t mind bringing him to that state again.

With a roar, the King of Cybertron finally overloaded, his transfluid spilling deep inside Sentinel. He was pleased to feel that the blue mech’s valve was gently, steadily milking out his fluids, no doubt bringing them to the smaller mech’s carrying chamber. Hmm, would once be enough to spark up the blue mech? Megatron knew he was very fertile already -- he had seven Sparklings to prove it, after all; well, eight since a few orbital cycles, when Starscream had given birth to their fifth Creations, a femme again. He supposed he should feel a bit disappointed -- he needed a mech to pacify some of the more fretting nobles families from the northern provinces -- but really, he wasn’t.

He liked Bitties. He liked Siring them, and he liked seeing them run around. The fact he only had femmes so far was barely worth a snort. They were all femmes, true, but they were still eight Sparklings he acknowledged were his nonetheless. To say nothing of one or two he might have had when he was younger, with servants tasked to teach him all about interfacing.

Yes, Megatron was fertile… though he had no idea if the Count of Antilla was. Hmm… he withdrew his spike and looked down at the passed out frame of his latest conquest.

Sentinel was indeed a handsome mech. The shoulders were a bit too broad, but that could be arranged -- a simple downgrading of the armor plating would erase some of the bulk. The chin was a bit large, but very handsome all the same, and he could very well imagine himself ravaging it with kisses. His hips were very enticing, he decided, and they certainly would be good for sparkling-bearing, should it come to pass.

Hmm, yes. He could very well imagine himself having bitlets with that mech. And even if he was infertile… the interfacing would be amazing.

Nodding to himself, he rearranged his clothes, pulling up his breeches, not minding if he let transfluid traces on them. Gently, he gathered the exhausted, passed out frame in his arms, carrying him bridal-style as he used his shoulder to push aside one of the curtains at the back of the tent. The Debriefing/War Room only took part of the fabric construction, the foremost, where he received his Generals, the occasional messengers… and the very lost soldier who wandered in by accident, he chuckled.

The back of the tent, however, formed his own private quarters, where he had settled his sleeping quarters. Even more precious, colorful and softer carpets lined the floor, along with techno-organics animals furrs coming from the Quintesson Empire. A large berth had been settled in the middle of the circular ‘room’. On it, large, delicately embroidered pillows and cushions were lined up, as well as piles of soft, rich covers and sheets. Gently, he put down the sleeping form of his latest conquest and covered him with a couple of covers.

He couldn’t help but chuckle when he saw Sentinel instinctively curl around a pillow, moaning softly in his sleep.

Hmm, the field table hadn’t been the best place to make him lose his virginity, he thought. He would have to make it up to him. Yes. Their next time would happen at Kaon’s castle, in a large four poster berth, surrounded by deliciously soft fabrics, the room just lighted by a couple of candles. Just imagining it almost made his spike hard again.

Ah, well. Pleasure was for later. He leaned forward and kissed the top of the blue mech’s helm. Sentinel snuggled deeper around the pillow, making Megatron chuckle. He left the room in an excellent mood as he drew some further plans.

As it was, someone was waiting for him in the field room.

“General Strika,” he said, nodding. “I trust your preparations are complete?”

The large femme in red and golden uniform nodded. “Indeed they are, my Lord. Do forgive me, but I took the liberty to gather these… rags,” she said, showing Sentinel’s clothes, which had been bundled together in a corner.

“Rags indeed,” Megatron nodded. “The mech who initially wore them merits much better. I trust you will dispose of them swiftly?” The femme only nodded. “If you would be so kind as to bring back clothes in the same size for my… guest,” he smirked, “you’ll have my thanks.”

“I will, my Lord. Anything you wish particularly?”

“Hmm, I doubt there is a decent tailor here, or the kind of clothes I’d enjoy seeing him with, since we’re in a camp,” he mused. “A standard uniform will do so… for now. However, I’d appreciate it if you’d have a message send to ‘Lockstitch and QuickHem’ to tell them to prepare themselves for a new client. I’m afraid I’ll be busy doing some arrangements, but I’ll have someone escort him later. You should as well send a message to your Bonded. He’ll need to teach a new pupil, I think, for I’m not certain my latest catch knows proper manners and usages.”

The femme nodded. “I will, My Lord. What else would please you?”

The grey mech seemed to think for a moment. “Hmm, you’ll need to strike the name of ‘Sentinel, Count of Antilla’ off the army register.”

“Shall I give him an honorable discharge, my Lord?”

“Of course,” Megatron smirked. “He found a… higher calling in life, shall we say. Or perhaps can we say he got an unexpected promotion. As it is, I’d dislike seeing him serve under anyone but me ever again,” he said, a hint of warning in his voice. “Oh, and while I think about it, have someone bring over a meal for two here. Actually, don’t get too hasty in bringing that new uniform, and ensure yourself that meals are regularly delivered here, even if I’m not in. I don’t want Sentinel to leave my quarters just yet. Have guards around the tent if you need to, but make sure they don’t alarm him. Have a medic check him over and tell him he needs rest or something.”

General Strika just nodded. “Yes, My Lord. Will that be all?”

“For now,” he said.

“May I bring your attention to these battle plans, then?” she asked respectfully.

The King laughed and nodded. “Of course! Now, what can you tell me on the latest rebel moves?” he said, leaning over a brand new, spotless map.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sentinel finally learns just how much Megatron enjoyed their night together, meet his chaperon and future teacher and get ready to be presented to the Court...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see, eh? Here's a new chapter, hoping you will like it. <3

Waking up in the King’s berth -- his berth! -- had been a shock, Sentinel recalled as he watched the countryside by the window of the carriage.

At first, when he had regained his senses, he hadn’t remembered where he was. He had been warmth, and sore between the legs and positively starving, but not especially alarmed. In the haze he had been in, he had thought perhaps he was back in his old berthroom, waking up from a strange dream. Then he had realized he was without any clothes on, and the soreness between his legs had flared up when he had moved, making him yelp and panic as he realized it definitely wasn’t his berthroom or his berth, and that… that something had happened to make him feel sore.

He had gathered the covers around himself, looking right and left for an explanation or a way out, not thinking clearly or remembering he was in a tent, before an aged mech in a golden-edged servant livery came in, bearing a large tray. Sentinel had just watched him warily, not knowing what to do or say, when the servant had opened his mouth to speak. The blue mech still remembered his words.

 

_“Did the young Master slept well? His Majesty had to leave early on to join his troops, and he asked me to convey his excuses. He’d have liked to be present for your awakening, of course, but his duties take precedence. However, he gave orders for your comfort. What would the young Master like to eat?” he asked demurely, bowing._

_Sentinel just stared, jaw dropping in shock, before the words sunk in… and that yesterday -- or was it still the same day? He didn’t know how much time had passed -- events reminded themselves to him._

_Primus! He had… He had been… He did… frag… with the King! So this place was…!_

_“I’m… I’m in the berth of the King?” he asked dumbly._

_“Of course, young Master,” the servant said, bowing again. “After you passed out, His Majesty could hardly let you recharge on the floor. As he didn’t know where your own was situated, and he decided you’d be more comfortable here. Now, would you care for some Milk-Energon with a dash of Hydrogene-Honey to sweeten the taste? he asked, already versing the milky, nutritive fuel in a large silver bowl._

_Looking up in horror at the servant, he gathered the covers closer to him. Oh slag! It was real! He was… he was basically ‘naked’ in the King’s berth! His optics darted from right to left, seeking his clothes._

_“Is the young Master searching for something?” the servant inquired politely, mixing two generous spoonful of Hydrogen-Honey in the Milk-Energon._

_“Where are my clothes?” he blurted out._

_The servant paused in his preparation. “Your clothes, young Master? I’m afraid they were in such a state of untidiness that the King ordered them thrown away.” Sentinel almost choked at that; how was he supposed to get out of here without his clothes?! If he went out without anything… frag, he’d get mistaken for a… a pleasurebot at worse, or a lowly serf at best! Only the poorest of mechs or those dealing in pleasure lacked essential clothes articles! And even then, serfs were given at least bed-quality breeches, especially since Megatron ascended to the throne; during the parties for his coronation, he had given orders to distribute gifts to his new subjects, something that made him very popular in the lower casts._

_Imperturbable, the servant continued. “I think clean ones were ordered from the supplies, but they have yet to arrive. Aside of the Milk-Energon, may I suggest to you the fresh Aurum-Apples? They’re excellent. And if you desire, I also have Carbon-Cereals bread. If you’re partial to something sweeter, I can bring you some like pastries and Copper-Cinnamon bread rolls,” he added._

_Sentinel’s jaw worked without a sound escaping his lips. “When should they arrive? I… I’d like to leave as soon as possible, to not bother His Majesty,” he said carefully._

_“The King was adamant your presence here was not bothering him the slightest. As for the arrival of your clothes, I’m afraid I don’t know, young Master. I’ll ask one of the other valets to go and seek the information. The camp is in some sort of disarray, troops are moving in and out at any time, with prisoners at that,” the old mech said, carefully peeling an Aurum-Apple, without even asked Sentinel if he would really eat it. “I was also asked to transmit His Majesty’s thanks in the capture of the one mech brought to the camp yesterday. I was lead to believe His Majesty was very pleased with the catch.”_

_“Is… is that so?” Sentinel asked, feeling some pride at the supposed thankfulness of the King. Perhaps… perhaps it would help him along in his career, he thought. The… thing… with the King… was reason enough for Megatron to remember him. If Sentinel did his best… yes, perhaps the King would allow him a promotion earlier than he had dared to hope or suppose._

_“Yes, young Master,” the servant said, making slice of Carbon-Cereal bread. “Would you like some jams with your bread?”_

_Sentinel hesitated. The situation still felt really awkward. Being naked in the berth of the King, served by some old mech he had never seen before, unable to leave the tent without losing all honor… it got on his CPU, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to refuel in these conditions. But his fuel tank gave a pang of hunger, and his energy levels were quite low. “If you have Sillicium-Strawberries jam…?” he asked, a bit doubtful._

_“I do, young Master. I also have some Ovoid-Oranges marmalade, should you desire so. Should I give you some also?” Sentinel nodded hesitantly, and the servant smiled briefly as he opened a canister. “Do you also desire some juice?”_

_“Uh, no? Though if you have energon…?”_

_The servant frowned a bit. “Energon is hardly a drink to consume on breakfast, young Master. I shall bring you some later, if you still desire so, though,” he amended._

_Sentinel hid a grimace. Of course. Energon was… Well, energon wasn’t popular among some circles which considered the rich fuel as some sort of alcohol, like the rare and delicate wines produced from mechanicrops. As such, some people felt very strongly against its consummation outside of the mid-day and late-day fuel breaks, or outside of degustations in special circumstances. Of course, the servant would be one of those._

_“Uh, where am I supposed to eat?” he asked, seeing there wasn’t a table or a chair in the room._

_“But in berth, young Master,” the servant said, bringing the tray over. Sentinel noticed for the first time it had telescopic feet, which expended as the tray was settled over Sentinel’s laps. The blue mech eyed it dubiously. Breakfasts in bed was something he hadn’t done since his early Sparklinghood, and he had never cared much for it._

_“Ah, uh, thank you…?” he asked, realizing he didn’t know the name of the servant._

_“Fineflair, young Master. Do refuel, please. I’ll be in the other room to wait for Sir Knock Out while you do so.”_

_Sentinel paused, hand atop a peeled Aurum-Apple. “Sir Knock Out?” he asked, feeling dread. If he remembered right, it was…_

_“One of His Majesty’s medics, young Master. The King has asked him to examine you to insure there is no damage from your previous… activities,” Fineflair said delicately._

_Sentinel felt his cheeks go hot with shame, not only about the fact some medic he didn’t know of would get a look at his valve, and also that a lowly servant knew about… about what had happened between Megatron and he. “That… that won’t be necessary!” he said quickly. “I’m perfectly fine!”_

_“I’m sure you are, young Master. However, his Majesty gave orders, and His orders will be obeyed,” the old servant said reasonably._

_“There is no reason to…” Sentinel tried to insist, but Fineflair shook his head._

_“Don’t insist, young Master. The King’s commands are absolute. My mission is to take care of you and your needs until he comes back or give me new orders. Sir Knock Out’s orders are to examine you and transmit his findings to His Majesty, as well as to watch over your general health.”_

_“Really, it’s ridiculous,” Sentinel continued to protest. “Noble or not, I’m just one soldier among others…”_

_“If what I heard is right, young Master, you may become much more,” the old mech said simply._

_Sentinel blinked. What did Fineflair meant? Did Megatron consider giving him a promotion, really? Just because he had… interfaced with him? If so… Sentinel didn’t know what to think._

_Bowing, he started to walk toward the opening in the fabric wall. “Refuel and rest; Sir Knock Out will be here soon, and hopefully, His Majesty as well.”_

Sentinel hadn’t liked Knock Out. At all. The lithe red mech had looked at him with a smirk that had grated on his CPU. The fact he had touched him and probed at his valve for longer than Sentinel had felt was necessary had not endeared the medic to him further.

And his questions! Continually asking if Sentinel had liked it, if the King had fragged him well, if he’d mind sharing the details! Sentinel could have strangled him! He still wanted to, as it was! Thankfully, their ‘meeting’ hadn’t lasted long. Once he had checked the state of Sentinel’s valve, reassured him by saying there wasn’t any damage and that the soreness was perfectly normal and should fade in a few cycles once the healing nanites had finished their work, the medic had gathered some echantillons of lubricants for some vague reason. Sentinel had gathered it was to check on the state of the nanites, which may be working slowly, and see if perhaps he’d need to provide Sentinel with salves.

It had, thankfully, not be necessary.

Even so, Sentinel had felt the time passed very slowly. Trapped in the tent, he had waited for his new clothes for several solar cycles. Fineflair had given him several excuses: the quartermasters were too busy, the strong rains that fell later in the day had drenched so many people the supplies’ stock of spare, clean uniforms had been raided,... And Sentinel had had to wait. And wait. And wait.

He hadn’t seen the King again, surprisingly enough. Fineflair explained the rebels leaders had been found, and that Megatron himself was leading the charge against their main camp. It didn’t mean the King never came back. Apparently, he did at least once, when Sentinel was asleep, and His Majesty hadn’t wished to wake him up, preferring to sleep beside him before awakening very early the next solar cycle and leaving without a noise. Sentinel didn’t know if it was true or not. If it was, why hadn’t he woken up? But he had no reason to doubt Fineflair either.

As it was, Sentinel missed all the actions. With the King and the famous General Strika present, the rebellion was crushed in two solar cycles, the leaders arrested or killed, the King punishing some of his subjects as an example, before granting an official pardon to the mislead masses, who renewed their loyalty to him. After that, the King had left for Kaon immediately, where an important matter was calling him. Or so Sentinel had heard. At the time, he was too busy finally putting on his new breeches to care. As much as the berth was comfortable, staying in without nothing to do but recharge was boring.

Fineflair had helped him dress, despite Sentinel’s protests, and let him known one of His Majesty trusted advisor was waiting for him. The King wished to see him again, inviting him to the Court, the servant had said, smiling. A carriage was ready to take him to Kaon as soon as he was dressed.

Sentinel had felt elated. Here came his promotion!

And so, here he was, sitting comfortably in a carriage pulled by two Zap-Horses, running toward Kaon, with a mech he had never seen but heard of before. Sentinel kept glancing at him curiously.

Chancellor Soundwave was about the last mech Sentinel would have thought he’d travel with. He hadn’t even know he was in Hexima! One would have expected the King’s Communication and External Affairs Minister to be in Kaon, at the palace, and not on a battlefield. However, as all Decepticon-descended nobles, he was quite the warrior, or so Sentinel’s Carrier had told him when he was younger.

Funny, now that he thought about it. Soundwave was his Carrier’s superior, and the one she was writing reports to. Sentinel had wondered if the mech knew who he was, and to his surprise, the Chancellor had indeed recognized him as Lady Aura’s son, actually praising his mother’s professionalism and dedication to her duties. It was, he knew, quite exceptional to hear him say as much, for Chancellor Soundwave was known as a mech of few words. It had certainly made Sentinel’s Spark swell with pride as he realized his Carrier was so well noticed by the Chancellor and so openly acknowledged for her hard work.

His pride went even further when Chancellor Soundwave had started eyeing him.

“Soundwave: hopes that Sentinel will take own duties as seriously,” the mech had droned on at one moment.

“Of course, Sir,” he had answered automatically, standing straighter. “I’ll do all my possible to please His Majesty.”

Soundwave had nodded faintly, obviously satisfied with the proclamation. Ever since, he had not said anything, and Sentinel hadn’t dared to question him further. So now, he was watching the landscape, Spark beating faster as the first houses started to appear on each side of the roads, peasants and other low class mechs bowing on the path of the carriage, having recognized the royal emblem on the doors. Sentinel passed his head by one of the windows to look; in front of him, still looking far but oh so close, the palace of Kaon was visible, its roofs shimmering in the sun.

The carriage was now advancing slowly through the town, taking small streets, to Sentinel’s puzzlement. To join the palace quickly, shouldn’t they have stayed in the main avenue? He glanced several times at Chancellor Soundwave, who stayed impassible. Sentinel fidgeted, wondering what was going on, especially since the driver was about to make the carriage stop, he could feel it.

“Sentinel: should get out now,” Soundwave finally said when the carriage finally stopped.

“Sir?” he asked, confused.

Soundwave looked at him, and Sentinel shivered a bit. “His Majesty: gave order. Sentinel: must appear at Court in adequate clothings. Current clothes: not adequate,” he explained shortly, simply. “Someone: waiting for him. Will escort Sentinel to the palace once done. Soundwave: awaited.”

Sentinel blinked. That was the first time he heard of it. But it didn’t displease him, he decided. Having richer jackets and breeches to wear for his first time at Court would do well in giving a good first impression to the Court’s dwellers, most of them of an higher rank or from more influential families than the Magnus, he knew.

He nodded swiftly to the Chancellor. “Thank you for taking me so far, Sir,” he said, saluting as a servant opened the door and unfolded the step. Soundwave only nodded.

The door was closed as soon as Sentinel was out, and the driver yelled and sent the Zap-horses running immediately. Sentinel jumped to the side, almost cursing when he noticed dust raised by the wheels had stained his breeches. Wonderful, he thought bitterly. Well, he’d have to change in some of the new clothes he was here for, he supposed, raising his head to look at the shop sign overhead.

“‘Lockstitch and QuickHem’,” he said aloud, “‘Official tailor of the Court’.”

“They are the best,” rumbled a deep voice, startling Sentinel. He turned and found himself facing… facing something he found very disturbing and hideous.

Before him was one of the biggest mech he had ever seen, what was visible of his armor teal and purple, with a single, large red optic and a large jaw. But that wasn’t what had Sentinel twitching, no. It was the dress. On a mech like that, so large and obviously strong, a dress was frankly… weird. Especially once so… frilly, with an overabundance of lace and petticoats of which the edge was visible. At least the color was a sensible paler purple, which wasn’t too hard on the optics. Behind the apparition, there was six mechs, two in servant liveries and four in the uniform of Kaon’s regiments.

Sentinel stared for a moment before his manners kicked in and he bowed, taking off his tricorn as he did so. “My Lady, Count Sentinel of Antilla, to your service,” he said.

The mech in dress snorted. “That’s not the correct way to present yourself. I suppose I’ll have a lot of work with you,” he grumbled, making Sentinel blink. What was that about? The mech grumbled. “I am Lugnut, Duchess of Chaar and Viscountess of Thrull,” he rumbled. “I’m here to watch over you and take you to the palace once we’re finished picked up your new wardrobe. I’ll also supervise you during your first vorns at the Court.”

Vorns? He was expected to stay for vorns? Nobody had told Sentinel that, and for some reason, it made him nervous.

“You’re too kind, my Lady,” he forced himself to answer.

Lugnut just looked at him. “Well, let’s go pick up something decent for you. You can’t certainly be introduced by His Majesty Megatron to the Court in such… rags, no befitting your new condition.” With that, he walked forward, grabbing Sentinel’s arm as he went and pushing open the door of the shop, making a bell ring. The rest of the escort waited outside, Sentinel noticed.

The room was small, displaying a few mannequins shaped in various frame-style, clothed in fine quality articles. A large counter, however, took most of the place, though it allowed enough room to pass beside it and reach a large door in the back, which Sentinel supposed led to the atelier, display and changing rooms. A small mech was waiting behind the counter and bowed as Lugnut entered.

“Lady Lugnut, what a pleasure!” he exclaimed. “It’s been so long since you graced us with your presence! Are you here to try for some winter cloaks? We had an arrivage of new mechanimals fur recently that you’ll probably find to your taste…”

“As interesting as it is, Overlock, no, I’m not,” Lugnut rumbled. “I’m here for him,” he said, showing Sentinel to the tailor, who looked at him with interest. “Sentinel of Antilla. The King’s special order,” he added.

The face of the tailor lighted up suddenly. “Oh! Of course! Mr Lockstich and Mrs QuickHem have been waiting for you! They’re so excited!” he beamed, before bowing deeply. “This way, if you please, Lady Lugnut, Lady Sentinel.”

Lugnut dragged him along, even as Sentinel’s mouth dropped open in shock. ‘Lady’? What did he meant, ‘Lady’?! Sentinel was a mech, a Lord, and decently dressed in breeches, chemise and overcoat! He certainly was no ‘Lady’!

“I’m not a…” he started to say, his words trailing off as they entered the atelier. The room was spacious and very luminous. Mirrors and mannequins lined every walls. A couple of tables were dressed in corners, at which various mechs and femmes were sitting, working over sewing machines or doing embroideries. Rolls of fabrics were set upon other, larger and longer tables, where some workers were carefully cutting away pieces following patterns. In a corner, a mech and a femme were talking with a young mech who kept showing them papers. Sketches for new creations, Sentinel supposed. The whole place was overflowing with activity, and it was dazzling enough to almost make him forget about the ‘Lady’ comment. Almost.

He glared at the mech, Overlock, who had accompanied them. “I am not a Lady!” he said, but the mech hadn’t listened to him. Instead, he had marched straight to the couple in the back, smiling.

“Mr Lockstitch! Mrs QuickHem! The King’s new Favorite is here for the order!”

All the activity in the room seemed to stop at the same time as Sentinel’s Spark.

Favorite? FAVORITE?! That… that had to be a mistake! Or a bad, bad joke! No, no, probably not a joke, but a mistake. The King had probably made an order for clothes for… for Optimus, and they were mistaking Sentinel for him! That… that had to be that! Or… Or Megatron had chosen a new, pretty femme or mech to berth and Sentinel had come by just before him or her! He couldn’t… Surely, not? Sure, he had shared the King’s berth… but it was an accident! And only the once! And he hadn’t seen him since! Had he truly wanted Sentinel to share his berth more -- something Sentinel couldn’t, didn’t believe -- then he would have told him of his interest sooner… right?

He turned toward Lady Lugnut, jaw open in shock, silently begging him to deny everything, anything. But Lugnut’s face could have been carved in stone, and he didn’t say anything.

Sentinel’s Spark sunk deeper. The tailors, however, seemed elated.

“Splendid! Splendid!” the mech, Lockstitch, said. “Oh, Lady Lugnut! Such a pleasure! Did your last ball dress give you satisfaction?”

“It did, Mr Lockstitch,” the large mech rumbled. “It certainly pleased my Bonded at any rate. But I’m not here for more personal orders today. I’m here to chaperon the Lady Sentinel of Antilla, as you have guessed,” he said, showing the silent and immobile Sentinel, who watched him in shock.

Lugnut was confirming it. Lugnut. Was. Confirming. It! FRAAAAAAAAG! SLAGSLAGSLAGSLAG! Sentinel tried to take a step back, but Lugnut caught him by the arm immediately, looking down at him sternly.

“Now,” he hissed lowly, so low only Sentinel picked it, “don’t make a scene! The King would be very displeased, and so would I! Don’t make the guards have to pursue and drag you back. We’re on a short schedule already if we want you to be ready for tonight’s ball,” he warned.

Sentinel tried to free his arm, to no avail. Lugnut’s grip was incredibly strong, and he winced a bit as it tightened warningly. He stiffened and stopped trying to free himself, and Lugnut relaxed the grip. Sentinel looked frantically around for a possible way to escape, to no avail. There was only the one door… and Lugnut besides him, who wouldn’t hesitate to just lift him, kicking and screaming, and to tear his clothes off so the tailors could work, he was sure of it.

He was… he was trapped.

The tailors didn’t seem to notice his unhappiness -- or if they did, they didn’t comment about it. Sentinel wondered briefly if they were used to that -- mechs dragged in only to learn they’d be outfitted in dresses. Some nobles families gave really short notices to their offsprings when they decided a change of wardrobe was in order, he knew. Instead, they were looking at Sentinel with large smile or critical optics, looking him up and down, seeming to mentally measuring him.

“The King did choose a very handsome mech,” he heard a femme whisper to someone who shushed her.

“My Lady, it is quite the honor to have you in our modest shop,” the femme, QuickHem he supposed, said with doing a reverence. Several femmes imitated her, doing curtseys, while mechs bowed. Sentinel swallowed dryly.

“It is… an… honor to be here,” he stammered, glancing at Lugnut, who was still looking warningly at him.

“You’re too kind, Milady,” Lockstitch said, smiling. “Please, do come this way,” he asked. “The King asked us to make sure you had a properly furnished wardrobe, and we have been readying ourselves for your arrival since almost a decacycle. Sadly, he never gave us your measurements, so we had to do some guesswork. We have some few dresses ready, which will only necessitates some retouches to fit you. For the rest, I’d be most glad to show you some fabric echantillons so you can decided what you’d like better. We have also catalogs of possible embroideries patterns for the brocades of your dresses and cloaks, as well as…”

He droned on as he walked Sentinel to a stool, on which he was asked to stand up after removing his clothes. It made Sentinel blush, and he was about to refuse, before Lockstitch, who noticed his hesitation, added quickly.

“Don’t worry, my Lady. We’re all professionals here. Nobody will ever have an… inappropriate gesture toward you. And the Lady Lugnut is here to chaperon the whole thing, is he not? There’s nothing to fear,” he cajoled.

Lugnut, the big brute, added. “You should remove these breeches at once. There’re not a proper attire for a Lady,” he groused, optics narrowing at Sentinel, who gulped and reluctantly started to take off his clothes. They were swiftly taken away by a small, dainty femme, who curtsey as she left.

And so what Sentinel would always define as a torture started.

Mechs and femmes alike moved around him, taking his measurements with tapes, shouting them aloud, noting them down. His plating color was observed, leading to debate over which colors would suit him better for a dress. A panier was brought so he could pass the dresses correctly, petticoats to give volume, as well as -- to Sentinel’s mortification -- a corset. Sentinel already had a rather thin waist, but the accessory was said to be ‘indispensable’ and ‘in fashion’. The very idea of a corset sounded ridiculous, but the damn thing, invented by scientists, had mysterious properties, making things appear thinner than they were due to some sort of optical illusion. Thus it would allow his waist to become a bit thinner and put more emphase on his hips and the skirt of the dress.

Then went the already finished dresses, six of them, in various shades of red, yellow and blue, that he had to wear while small, deft hands adjusted a corsage, made sure the sleeves fell correctly, tightened a belt, or lengthened or shortened a skirt.

Sentinel tried not to fidget too much, even as his optics twitched each time he was called ‘lady Sentinel’, and each time he was forced to pass another dress and its matching petticoats. And to his horror, there were more things to try on or to be ordered.

“How many did you say there are supposed to be?” he asked faintly.

QuickHem, who was currently the one showing him an echantillon of deep red CaesiumSilk embroidered with gold thread and constellated of little pearls, blinked and smiled.

“Well, to compose a full wardrobe -- and more will be needed when we reach the colder seasons --, the King gave us 200.000 credits, with the promise for more should we need it, included with the budget a list of your basic needs. As such, your current order is of four dozens of ordinary, everyday dresses, with six dozens of matching petticoats, in CaesiumSilk or lace for the most part. With that, a dozen ball dresses for the various festivities at Court. Twenty pairs of stockings, with their garters so they stay on. Two dozen chemises. A dozen of light summer cloaks, a dozen of warmer cloaks for spring and autumn, and a dozen of heavy, fur or fur-trimmed cloaks for the winter season. A dozen of fans matching your dresses tones -- more are to be added if necessary. Two dozens of drawers -- a dozen of plain ones for horse riding, as to not show anything unseemly, and another dozen of open ones, matching the fashion in Vos -- I’ve heard the King is very fond of them. Ribbons and feathers -- a whole case, actually -- to put on your helm. Ten different nightgowns with assorted shawls. And then, we’ll also have the lines, that the King also chose to have us do: the towels, the sheets,... Oh, and I was going to forget the umbrellas to shelter you from the sun and the rain! Oh, and your future servants’ livery, which we’d also like your advice on!”

“And that’s… basic?” Sentinel squeaked, optics wide.

“Of course,” QuickHem said with a small smile. “It’s not even the quarter of what Queen Starscream order every vorn! Four dozens of different dresses is a decent amount for some, but most of the Ladies at the Court have more, of course.”

“Of course,” Sentinel said faintly.

“I am sorry we can give you so few of your things already, My Lady,” QuickHem excused herself. “But never fear! Now we have your measures, we’ll be able to complete them in no time! You should have the first two dozens delivered to the palace in three of four solar cycles at the most!”

“How… wonderful,” Sentinel said blankly.

QuickHem’s smile fell. “But it really bothers me, My Lady, that we can’t have everything ready for you already,” she said, obviously sad. “I wouldn’t want you to appear at Court with only second best or an incomplete wardrobe.”

“Don’t fear, Mrs QuickHem,” Lugnut rumbled. “Dispositions have been taken already.”

“Dispositions?” QuickHem blinked before smirking a bit. “Oh, I see. Did our beloved King also leave a list in other modistes shops? It is perfectly fine,” the femme said quickly. “I’ll take that as a challenge! I’ll prove, once again, the superiority of our shop over our concurrents!” she declared with passion.

It seemed to amuse Lugnut, which Sentinel found somewhat creepy. “Indeed, Mrs QuickHem. I don’t think ‘Chenille’s World’ will ever surpass you,” he mentioned casually.

“Hmm, the young Chenille is good, I’ll give her that,” the femme mused. “However, it’s doubtful she’ll ever be able to handle large orders, unless her practice gather more clients and she can hire more personnel.”

“It’s not about large orders,” Lugnut pointed out. “It is about having some quality outfits to show off until yours are all ready.”

“Indeed,” Lockstitch, who had come closer, smiled. “Well, Lady Sentinel, I think we’re done for today. Thank you for granting us your clientele,” he said, bowing. “The ready dresses, cloaks, stockings, garters, petticoats and accessories have already been packed -- asides of the ones lady Sentinel is currently wearing, of course. Should I send them to the palace immediately?”

“No,” Lugnut rumbled. “You can put them in the back of my carriage, we’ll take them with us. We have other shops to visit.”

“As you wish, my Lady. And, Lady Sentinel? Is the dress to your taste?” the mech asked, cautious.

Sentinel looked at himself in one of the large mirrors. The reflection made him swallow dryly. He had really been put in a dress… A dress of a deep blue colors, a shade darker than his plating, trimmed with gold threads and ribbons at the sleeves and at the hem, with frilly lace from the chemise he wore underneath showing at the elbows. The skirt was long, to the point of brushing the floor.

The bodice matched the skirt in its blue color, ending in a ‘V’ at the waist. The underbodice and the second skirt, however, were a silvery white, embroidered with intricate leafs and branches, all made in blue thread matching the color of the sleeves and the upper skirt. Golden ribbons were sewed at the edges making a nice contrast between the white and the blue.

A small golden bow rested at the top of the bodice, surrounded by a simple line of thin lace running all around the collar. His head fins had been adorned with small gold ribbons, and he wore no less than three petticoats underneath the skirt, completed with long stockings stopping at mid-thighs and firmly maintained by garters made of more golden ribbons, these ones edged with blue. He wore no drawer underneath, thankfully, as they ‘would not fit correctly with the shape of the dress’.

Sentinel just looked dazedly at his reflection, not believing it was happening to him.

“My Lady?” came the question again. “Does it please you?”

“Y… yeah, it does,” Sentinel managed to choke out, though it was hard. Not, he wasn’t pleased at all! He wasn’t a Lady, slagit! He wasn’t supposed to wear anything like that! He wanted his breeches, his overcoat, his chemise! Not that stupid, frilly dress!

“And I think it’ll please the King greatly,” rumbled the voice of Lugnut, who was observing Sentinel critically. He didn’t seem overly pleased, but Sentinel had the feeling it was less about his clothes than about something else.

Sentinel fidgeted uneasily. The King’s pleasure… that was what had just put him in such troubles. Primus, a ‘Favorite’? Him? He didn’t know if he should laugh or cry at the absurdity. Probably cry or shout in fright. After all, he realized with a sinking feeling, being a ‘Favorite’ meant much more than being dressed as a Lady and dolled up. It also meant… interfacing… with the King… regularly…

Oh Primus! He shuddered violently at the thought, especially as he remembered the… girth of the King’s spike. Was he expected to… to take it all the time?! His optics twitched and he shuddered again.

“Are you feeling cold, my Lady?” asked one of the tailors.

“I reckon he must be,” Lugnut said with authority, eyeing Sentinel with some sort of disapproval. “Bring him one of his cloaks and go charge the boxes,” he ordered as he came near Sentinel and helped him get off of the stool. “We’ll be going right away. There’re still shops we need to see.”

With that, he dragged a mute Sentinel behind him. The blue mech entertained the idea to fight, but decided against it. Lugnut didn’t seem to be a mech he’d like to cross, and he was so massive he made Sentinel feel a bit nervous.

As they left the shop, a carriage with an emblem Sentinel was unfamiliar with stopped right before them, and one of the servants he had seen earlier got off a step at the back and opened the door for them.

“Get in first,” Lugnut rumbled, and Sentinel obeyed, yelping when, as he tried to get on the step, he managed to walk on the edge of his dress and almost fell face down. Lugnut’s hand shot up to steady him before he did fall, though.

“Careful!” he rumbled unhappily as Sentinel climbed in and settle on one of the seats. “I was right: you’re going to give me a lot of work, aren’t you?” he mumbled, obviously not happy as he climbed after him and sat in the seat directly across from him, giving a sharp knock to the roof to signal the driver he could go. Sentinel bristled.

“Sorry,” he drawled, “I certainly wasn’t expecting to get dragged off for a full wardrobe of dress, nor to be addressed as a Lady, or be lusted after by some sort of perv…”

“Lord Megatron is not some sort of pervert,” Lugnut boomed, glaring at Sentinel, who shrunk in his seat. “Lord Megatron is a great King, who decided to give a lowly, undeserving mech a great honor by bringing him to his berth! It is my duty, as His Majesty’s most faithful servant and head of the protocol, to watch over you and make sure you adhere to the Court’s etiquette, as to not embarrass his Majesty,” he continued with passion, and Sentinel was torn between lashing out or nodding meekly.

He opted for nodding meekly, fearful of what the big mech could or would do. It seemed to Sentinel that Lugnut was… a tad too much devoted to the King.

Lugnut seemed pleased by Sentinel’s silence and ‘shy’ demeanour. “Good,” he grumbled. “There are many things we must talk about. The King has given orders so you’d have apartments ready for you at the palace. You’ve been given a set of rooms on the second floor, with windows on the gardens. You’ll be allowed to change the decoration to suit your taste should you be displeased with them. The King is already preparing a generous pension you’ll be handed every orn for your everyday life. Do be thankful to him once you’ll be meeting him in private, and prove him that thankfulness,” he warned.

“Yes… Milady,” Sentinel gulped. He had a pretty good idea of what said ‘thankfulness’ would imply.

Lugnut rumbled. “You’ll have much to learn. First off, you’ll need some pointers on your behaviour. Do you know how to properly and graciously curtsey? As a Lady, I must add? No? I expected as much. As soon as we’ll arrive to the palace, you will accompany me to my quarters, and we’ll try to give you some training. Woes to you should you ashame Lord Megatron by looking like an idiot when he’ll present you to the Court tonight,” he warned.

“T… tonight?” he squeaked. “So soon?”

Lugnut nodded shortly, obviously displeased. “Yes. His Majesty is quite eager for your presence and to make your official status known.”

Sentinel swallowed. “But… I can’t be the Favorite!” he blurted out. “I mean, isn’t the Favorite Optimus? I haven’t hear the King was displeased with him and wanted to have him replaced,” he babbled when Lugnut frowned at him.

“Lady Optimus’ status at Court is unchanged. Lord Megatron still honors him regularly and visits him as he wishes. He is and will remain a Favorite as long as Lord Megatron wish it. Your own status isn’t incompatible; if His Majesty said you were to be a Favorite, then you’ll also be a Favorite. No law stops the King from taking more than one lover at time. Thus, Lord Megatron is allowed as many Favorites as he wishes,” Lugnut said with finality.

“Of course,” Sentinel said, wincing. He fidgeted, playing a bit with the fan in his hands. Lugnut saw it and grimaced.

“Do remember this: in presence of the King, no Lady keep a fan open. Faces must be clearly visibles. When His Majesty enters a room, you must bow or curtsey deeply before him in respect, and you must do the same thing when he leaves the room. If you are invited at his table, you mustn’t sit before he does, unless he helps you sit down as a gesture of gallantry. You must never reach for a plate or a dish, but wait until the servants filled a plate for you. As well, you mustn’t ask for more fuel vocally; a simple, discrete gesture to the servant must suffice. If you don’t know the appropriate gestures, they’ll be taught to you later. You aren’t to address the King until he talked to you first. You will never refuse an invitation to the royal table, for it would be bad manner and a poor way to thank our glorious Majesty for his kindness. It that understood?” Lugnut warned.

“Yes, Milady,” Sentinel droned obediently.

“As well,” Lugnut continued, “your conduct must be irreproachable. A good Lady of the Court rises early as to attend to the first mass given by the priests of the ‘Church of Primus Almighty’, even if they’re more inclined toward the ‘Glorious Primus Church’ or the ‘Children of Primus Congregation’,” he warned. “As the Church of Primus Almighty is the one to which our King adheres, you will never speak out against its beliefs. You may, if you follow one of the other church’s currents, go attend to one of their mass later in the solar cycle,” he allowed. Sentinel nodded feebly. He had never been much into religion, and Ultra Magnus and Kup, although they had taught them the basis shared by the three main church movements of Cybertron, had let them choose which ones they wanted to adhere to. Sentinel did not join any in the end, just listening to neutral priests who weren’t much concerned about the religious schism, just loving to say that they were all children of Primus anyway and that, so long they believed in him, their God was pleased.

Lugnut wasn’t finished. “It is expected for the Ladies of the Court to be generous and regularly give funds to charities. If you’re unfamiliar with them, I’ll provide you a list. They range to help for the orphans to the renovation of religious or historical edifices by benevoles, and a few do have the King’s acknowledgement, if not His favor. Lady Optimus, for example,” he said, his lips curling, “support a fund for the education of poor Sparklings. He also likes to support struggling artists and has been involved in the making of a new art school, open to those too poor to get entry in the Harmonex Fine Arts College.”

“It does sound like Optimus,” Sentinel remarked without thinking. Lugnut’s optic narrowed.

“Ah, yes. I’ve heard he’s your… cousin. Optimus works hard to please His Majesty. I do expect you to do the same,” he groused.

Sentinel dared not to answer. Lugnut looked at him for a long time with an intensity that put Sentinel ill at ease. “Do you know how to dance?” Lugnut asked in a low voice.

Sentinel blinked. “Uh, some? I…”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” Lugnut cut him off. “You’ll need to know how to dance like a proper Lady and learn the right steps. I’ll call upon a teacher to assist me. You’ll need to learn the ones the King prefers in priority: waltzes, menuets,...” Sentinel nodded slightly. Just another humiliation he’d need to live through; how wonderful…

Lugnut’s optic narrowed again. “I must also warn you,” he said in a low tone that put Sentinel on edge. “I won’t tolerate the slightest hint of unfaithfulness toward the King.”

Sentinel gaped. Had he just heard the big brute in frilly dress say…?

“I don’t trust you,” Lugnut said plainly. “I don’t know what the King sees in you, but he intends to have you as his mistress, and as such, remember that he’s the only mech that you will take to berth, unless he decides otherwise. You must be faithful to him, or you’ll face dire consequences. As it is, I’ll be watching you,” Lugnut warned. “Know also that the etiquette requires you to be accompanied at all time by at least two servants, or by a lady-in-waiting of irreproachable reputation, just like the Queen.”

The way he pronounced the word ‘queen’ was obviously disdainful. However, Sentinel was in too much shock to notice. Lugnut was continuing. “All your personal servants -- who will be provided by the King, as he is generous toward you -- will be castrated, of course, as to not tempt you or be tempted by you. Your ladies-in-waiting shall also be, or wear proper chastity belts, depending on their home cities rules or standing in society. You will not be conducting any illicit affair with them,” he said, obviously pleased. “You’ll also will not receive any unBonded Lord in your rooms, unless you have four ladies-in-waiting with you -- and two ladies-in-waiting or two servants for the Bonded ones -- acting as witnesses for your encounter. You also shall receive no Lord at all past a certain hour -- aside of his Majesty, of course, and eventually family,” he rumbled.

Sentinel’s optics twitched. Was the other mech serious? Really? Primus, it was getting worse and worse by the klik!

“It is also expected of you to not raise your voice to complain,” Lugnut added warningly. “Queen Starscream already does it enough for an army. As the King’s Mistress, you must always look humble and satisfied with your way of living. Should you really feel some discomfort over something, the King may -- and I stress the ‘may’ -- listen to you, provided he has first granted you permission to give your opinion on something. The same way, you aren’t allowed to give your opinion on politics, or the administration of the kingdom, unless allowed to by the King -- and if you do, you must never, ever disagree with him in public.”

“So I’m not allowed to do anything?” Sentinel asked.

“You are allowed to please the King,” Lugnut said sharply. “You are allowed all sort of distractions and a life of luxury for which plenty of Ladies of the Court and the kingdom would be ready to kill.”

“Well they can have it!” Sentinel snapped. “I don’t want any of it!”

“What you want is of no importance! What the KING wants is all that matters! And what he wants is YOU, for a reason I can’t fathom, and I’ll be damned to Unicron’s fiery Pits before I let you embarrass Lord Megatron in any way!” Lugnut snapped back. He took a deep breath through his vents. “Reluctance is to be expected. You aren’t the first Favorite of one of our glorious Kings to be brought at the Court less than pleased, after all. However, none have ever brought dishonor to our Kings, and I won’t allow you to be the first,” he warned. “You’ll become worthy of the title of Favorite, or I’m not His Majesty most loyal subject!”

“I doubt I’ll ever be pleased by the situation…”

Lugnut had a short laugh. “I never said you’d be pleased. I said you would be **worthy**. There’s a difference.”

“Lucky me,” Sentinel groused, trying to look by the windows, but thick curtains obscured the streets and Lugnut looked at him disapprovingly.

“A Lady doesn’t gape at the streets,” he warned Sentinel. “A Lady must remain discreet when travelling, especially without an escort.”

“And the four guards that were at the shop and are probably following us? Aren’t they an escort?” Sentinel snipped.

Lugnut seemed unhappy with the answer. “Too much like the Queen… I wouldn’t suggest behaving like that before the King,” he warned. “As much as he likes witty people, he won’t tolerate insolence, even from his mistresses.”

Sentinel looked to the side. What was he supposed to say or do? He was pretty much trapped as it was, and the Duchess of Chaar would be watching his every moves like a cyberhawk, commenting on them, correcting him… Primus, it was like he was a disobedient youngling again! Not that he had been overly disobedient, mind you, but it brought back memories he’d rather forget.

… How was he going to brought up the news to Ultra Magnus and Kup?! Primus, they would be devastated, he realized, optics widening. “Will I be able to write to who I want at least?” he asked suddenly.

Lugnut frowned. “I don’t see why now, so long nothing traitorous appear in your correspondence.” Sentinel sighed in relief at that. Well, if he was lucky, he would be the first one to inform his Uncle and adoptive Grandpa of his… change of status. Hopefully, the pill would be less bitter to swallow for them if he did.

“... May I ask where we’re going now?” he asked politely. There was no point in antagonizing Lugnut more than he had already -- not that Lugnut hadn’t been hostile from the very beginning, he realized.

“To ‘Bijou’s’,” Lugnut finally grumbled. “The King’s jewellers. He commanded several parures for you.”

“... It’s… nice of him?” Sentinel hazarded. Lugnut just grumbled some more. “And… is that all?”

“No. We also have to visit ‘Chenille’s World’ and ‘Miss Bobbin’ to take some more clothes commanded for you by the King. Also, we must make a visit to ‘Flowery Passion’, the Court’s official perfume makers. A Lady must use various scents to entice his Lord,” he rumbled.

Sentinel didn’t comment. He didn’t think he’d need to ‘entice’ anyone, because if Megatron could catapult him in a position of Favorite and official royal mistress after just a quick frag in a tent on the edge of a battlefield, then he doubted he’d need to try and turn him on even more. He tried very hard not to think about the King, or about what they would probably end up doing this very night cycle… unless Lord Megatron had something else planned.

“Is the King often very busy?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant. With any luck, if he was, then Sentinel wouldn’t have to see him too often. And some of Lugnut send his hopes up.

“The King is always busy,” Lugnut stated. “One doesn’t administer such a large kingdom, even with competent and devoted Ministers such as my beloved Strika, without having loads of work everyday. However,” he added, and Sentinel’s hopes were crushed, “the King always find a moment each solar cycle for the Queen and for Lady Optimus, and he does tend to pass most of the night cycle with either or both of them, depending on his wants. I gather he’d give you the same amount of time and attention. Be assured he will frequently come to see you, so be ready to please him at any moment.”

“I… will try to remember that,” Sentinel mumbled. So much for his hopes the interfacing would be occasional. However, he consoled himself. With a spouse and another mistress already, it was doubtful the King would manage to see him every night… or everyday. Megatron might be a strong, virile mech, but he certainly wasn’t able to frag three different mechs in the same day, right?

The rest of the ‘shopping trip’, as Sentinel would later dub it, went mostly quietly. Though Lugnut had announced his preference to continue with Bijou’s immediately, the driver had to make the carriage take side streets and alleys due to a crowd forming on the main street -- there may had been an accident, though Lugnut didn’t comment on it. As it was, having to take another direction brought them closer to another tailor shop and modified the order of the Duchess of Chaar’s plans.

Sentinel was first dragged to ‘Miss Bobbin’, then to the nearby ‘Chenille’s World’. He decided he disliked the latter, for the owner, a bright pink femme, was overly fond of frills and lace on each of her confections, and she was also very fond of pink. The whole place had been painted in pink hue, for Primus’ sake! Now, Sentinel had nothing against the pink color in general; he even liked it in small touches. But too much was too much! ‘Miss Bobbin’, in comparison, had been quieter, the rooms smaller and a bit darker, and the clothes… not so ‘girly’. The aforementioned Ms Bobbin only did dresses, unlike the larger shops who also dresses Lords, and she obviously didn’t have the same… financial ease than her concurrents, but her designs were simples, elegant and optic-catching all the same. Among the things the King had commanded from her for Sentinel, there had been, to the blue mech’s surprise, some clothes for horse riding: shirt, skirt,... even a little hat with colorful ribbons to protect him from the sun. But they weren’t made for the kind of horse riding Sentinel favored...

“I don’t need that to ride a horse,” Sentinel had tried to insist. “Just let me have a pair of breeches and…”

Lugnut had been incensed. “A Lady does not ride astride, but on a proper side saddle! And she must wear a correct dress to do it! Breeches are for Lords and Lords only!”

Sentinel had almost snapped at the large mech, and only a cough from the tailor asking Sentinel if he’d desire some similar clothes in other colors had stopped him. Honestly, Sentinel hadn’t wanted more… dresses. But he loved horse riding, and Lugnut hadn’t say anything against it -- only that he’d need to learn to ride side saddle. So he had reluctantly nodded, and actually chosen the colors himself.

He couldn’t say if Lugnut had approved, but he certainly had frowned less than before.

Next had been the perfume makers. Though 'Flowery Passion' was the official provider of the Court and had the King's favors, most Ladies had their own favorites, thus why after getting and assortment of soaps and precious was and polish, the carriage took them through the streets and toward another, smaller shop. ‘Potpourri’s Delices’ had, from what Sentinel had gathered from Lugnut growling, an excellent reputation. Optimus, he also learned, commanded his perfumes and bath products here, unlike the Queen, who had them imported from a Vos shop, or occasionally bought soaps from ‘A Thousand Essences’. Personally, Sentinel thought Queen Starscream had taste, if only for that.

‘A Thousand Essences’ were a well-known brand all across the kingdom, and several shops by the same names, manned by the Grand-Creations and Great-Grand-Creations of the founder, had opened in a number of cities. There had been one near the Iacon Royal Military Academy, where the blue mech had purchased wax and polish during most of his school vorns. Their products were rather expensive, but the quality couldn’t be contested.

‘Potpourri’s Delices’ prices were more affordables, he supposed, and they had more choices, certainly, but he didn’t think he liked what they proposed very much. He wondered if he should ask Lugnut to go to ‘A Thousand Essences’ instead, but decided against it. The mech was already twitchy enough, and Sentinel didn’t want to add to that. Besides, Lugnut wouldn’t be happy with Sentinel only taking polish. Oh no. To please the King, his Favorite had to always smell nice! So when they exited ‘Potpourri’, it was with a whole case of delicate crystal bottles, full of various perfumes Sentinel had never heard of. The idea of using them was weird, but it would be easier to deal with than the dress.

And then, finally, they reached Bijou’s. That… had been an experience, Sentinel decided later. Lords seldom wore jewellery -- a jewelled pin needle for their cravats, the emblem of their House pinned to their vest, precious cufflinks, occasionally some precious stones encrusted on them to underline their fortunes, and more often than not, they showed precious clocks with jewelled chains. For their part, young Sparklings, be they future Lords or Ladies, usually wore necklaces adorned with small medals, and perhaps pearls. The rest, they were for Ladies.

That was about the extend Sentinel had known since he was a Sparkling, since Ultra wasn’t overly fond of jewellery. That didn’t stop his Uncle from holding some real treasures he had showed them, such a necklace made of a triple rank of pearls and diamonds, or a brooch of silver and emeralds shaped like a bird, that had belonged to his late mate.

Sentinel remembered having found them astonishing.

They were, however, nothing compared to the ones the employees of Bijou’s showed him.

Rivers of pearls from the Rust Sea Coast, woven in complexes patterns. Enormous diamonds and shiny lapis lazulis from the mines of the Quintesson Empire, set in precious golden or silvery frames. Sparklings emeralds from Tarn and fiery rubies from Kaon’s own mines, big and small alike, mixed with shiny blue gemstones such as sapphires from Tyger Pax and less precious but rarer azurites and aquamarines from Praxus. Beryls from Simfur, opals from Corumkan, topaz from Perihex, agate, citrine, amethyst and onyx from Tesarus, turquoises from Altihex, jade from Uraya, garnet from Polyhex,...

Sentinel had never seen so many gemstones at once, and he had never thought he would. Especially not on himself. He had found himself quite dazzled by the number of precious parures he was being ‘gifted’ with. Necklaces, pendants, chokers, brooches, bracelets, rings, earrings -- Sentinel had always found the name funny; Cybertronians didn’t have ‘ears’, like some techno-organic lifeforms or mechanimals. ‘Earrings’ designated magnetized jewels that hung on each side of the head, around the level of the the audio sensors -- all serted in gold, silver or electrum. Some gemstones were carved, other were cut or polished in cabochons, or made the small details of intricate cameos.

Was he really expected to wear all of this?

He was still pondering over when they reached the palace, and when Lugnut immediately dragged him off to his own quarters so he could teach Sentinel ‘how not to make a fool out of himself when the Glorious Megatron would present him at Court tonight’. He had barely been able to gape at the splendor the palace and its high towers before being spirited away, though Lugnut grumbled he’d have plenty of time to do so.

He grumbled about a lot of things, really.

“No, no, no! You must bow lower when you curtsey, especially to His Majesty! Do it again,” the large purple and teal mech ordered, snapping at Sentinel, the blue mech gritting his dental plates to not curse.

They had been at it for the better part of a megacycle, and Sentinel was starting to feel very tired and annoyed. Lugnut never seemed satisfied with him, making him go through the same motions again and again and again, no matter what the large mech insisted they do.

So far, Sentinel had been ‘taught’ how to follow the steps for a waltz. Tonight was more of a formal dinner, but some dancing could always happen following the meal, and Lugnut didn’t want to take any chance. Thankfully, Sentinel hadn’t had too much trouble learning the steps; the Academy had provided him with some dancing lessons, though he had always gone through them as a Lord. Anyway, he didn’t too much trouble settling in his new… ‘role’. He didn’t even trip a single time over the hem of the dress! However, Lugnut hadn’t been satisfied, loudly proclaiming Sentinel lacked grace.

It made him snort. Sentinel was a fine specimen of a mech; he was naturally gracious! The… oaf simply didn’t appreciate it!

Lugnut had forced him to waltz and waltz and waltz before being satisfied enough, though he did insist that Sentinel kept taking regular lessons to ‘improve himself and not embarrass Lord Megatron’. And now that they were finished with the dancing, Sentinel had to learn to curtsey to his… teacher’s satisfaction.

Biting his lips, he tried to ‘bow graciously’ once more. Lugnut just rumbled.

“Again.”

And Sentinel did so. Again and again, with less and less patience each time. Lugnut didn’t seem quite approving, but he wasn’t making derogatives comments anymore.

“Enough.” Sentinel stopped the series of curtseys with relief. Lugnut turned. “Dinner is in less than a megacycle. Come with me; it’s time for you to get acquainted with your quarters and your staff. No,” he added when Sentinel tried to go toward the main door, “we will not take the hallways. Your presence must stay as discreet as possible until the King makes his announcement.”

“I hardly think we can leave this place without using the hallways,” Sentinel snipped.

Lugnut, surprisingly, laughed. “Ignorant mech!” Sentinel bristled at the comment. “Here,” he said, pushing aside one of the walls -- or rather, a panel that had the perfect appearance of a wall, but was indeed a door; a door leading to a passage just large enough for Lugnut to go through, with a volley of steps leading upstairs. “The palace is full of such passages,” Lugnut said with some satisfaction. “They’re generally used by the servants to move around without being seen too much.”

“... Oh,” Sentinel muttered. It made… sense. Many nobles didn’t like to set their optics on lower classes, after all, and he supposed that, given the nature and the frequency of the servants obligatory passages from one part of the palace to another, it was normal for them to have their own, discreet hallways.

Cautiously, he followed Lugnut through the passage, making sure not to trip on his skirt as he did so -- he really hated the slagging thing! Why did it have to be so long?

Walking to Sentinel’s… new appartments didn’t take very long. Lugnut’s own rooms were, he discovered, right under his owns. Said appartments were a set of four rooms -- a salon with half a dozen of seats and small tables, a smaller room lined with shelves and a long table with several chairs that was supposed to serve as library or a dining room should he decided to take his meals in the privacy of his quarters, a large berthroom he tried not to think too much about with an adjoining dressing room where his clothes were being stored, and a personal bathroom Sentinel actually eyed with interest, especially the large bathtub with at least six faucets, all of which had to deliver water and solvents. Sentinel liked to be and feel clean. Thus, the bathroom was about to become the one saving grace of his new… situation, he supposed.

He wouldn’t say he was exactly eager to actually use it, because doing so would further make the notion he was now expected to spread his legs for the King sink in even harder, but he couldn’t help but be… curious. Yes, that’s right, he was curious about the features of the bathroom!

Sentinel was briefly introduced to the servants -- and found himself very nervous upon learning two of them were actually in charge of helping dress and undress every solar cycle, something he didn’t think he liked at all -- before Lugnut dragged him off again through the ‘secret’ passages, but not before making sure Sentinel was perfumed and that he had put on a suitable parure of jewels. With reluctance, Sentinel had put on a necklace in gold and electrum, set with diamonds arranged to form flowers and small drops, matching earrings and bracelets of carved diamonds loosely linked together to his wrists.

Lugnut nodded shortly. “Well, I suppose it will do. Do try and bring honor to Lord Megatron tonight!”

Sentinel twitched. Bring honor to Lord Megatron… Right. He wondered if he could convince the King, in private, that he wasn’t deserving such an… honor and that there were prettier mechs more worthy than him otherwhere -- not that Sentinel didn’t found himself quite handsome, of course.

Yeah… perhaps he could actually convince the King to let him go… Hopefully.

**Author's Note:**

> The discussion is normally longer, but given the length, I thought it was a good time as any to insert a cut.
> 
> Also, a few notes:  
>  **Lady/Dame or Lord/Sir**  
>  Cybertronians can both carry and sire. However, to preserve lineages, inheritances and lands, explicit/inexplicit rules have been put in place. When it comes to reproduction, Cybertronians must only do one, and some measures are taken to ensure they do (ex: removal of spikes on carriers, removal of valves on sires, means to render the carrying chamber barren, way to make the reproductives nanites produced by the spike deactivates,...).  
> In most noble lines, the eldest sparkling will be the heir and as such, will only sire, whereas cadets will more often than not carry, though it can vary, depending on the wealth of the families and the alliances contracted. It is not absolute, however, and exceptions exist. It’s why most sparklings are raised with both basic teaching of what would be expected of a Sire or a Carrier. Until then, they’re usually referred to by the mech form of their titles if they’re mech, or by the femme one if they’re femmes. It’ll change once they’ve reached adolescence or adult life and are definitely assigned ‘duties’ and a final education.  
> To do such, some families ‘test’ their sparklings at the age their interface array becomes active to determine where their fertility rate is higher (carrying chamber or nanites pumps in the spike) and, depending on the results, will decide if the sparkling will be called Lord or Lady from now on. It is the favored methods in a couple of cities, but is highly frowned upon in others.  
> In other cases, the family will decide depending on where their interest lie with and what kind of alliance would beneficiate them, without thinking much of fertility rates. As such, it can happens that a mech raised to take the duties of Count, for example, see his life change and be suddenly thrusted into the role and education of a Countess due to a sudden engagement with another noble of better status who noticed him and desire him as a mate.  
> The head of House always has the final decision in these matters. Unfortunately, it means personal preferences of the sparklings are often pushed asides.


End file.
